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PREFACE. 



Clontarf, the village which gives a title to the fol- 
lowing Poem, stands on a low promontory, about 
three miles distant from the city of Dublin, on the 
northern side of the bay. It derives its name from 
the Irish, Cluain Taribh* the recess or bay of the 
Eull.t It is composed of one street, running at 
right angles to the shore, and unlike the majority 
of Irish villages, is distinguished by its neatness, 
cleanliness, and regularity. The church, the castle, , 



* Walsh's History of Dublin. 

f This is the name given to a sand bank of considerable 
extent, lying in a direction from West to East, along the 
Liffey. Dining the prevalence of southerly or easterly 
storms, it presents a very formidable appearance to the 
mariner. It has been the scene of many shipwrecks, as 
the remains of vessels yet to be seen on its banks at low 
water, too plainly demonstrate. The loud bellowing of the 
waves, naturally suggested the appellation by which this 
sand bank is known. A promontory in the island of 
Rathlin, on the coast of Antrim, has the name of Taribh 
IlagJiana from the same circumstance ; and its propriety 
can be justified by the highest classical authority. 

OvTi &6t\XT5"A$ XVpcC BOAA 7T(>6rt XitTOV 

II. 2. 394 
A 2 



ri PREFACE. 

and many cf the houses, being embosomed in trees, 
have a pleasing and romantic appearance. 

The " Sheds of Ciontarf " is the name given to 
a village prettily situated en the shore, about a quar- 
ter of a mile farther east. It is so named from 
some temporary huts or sheds, which were formerly 
erected in it for the convenience of curing fish. 
The neighbouring country is intersected by roads, 
appropriately denominated the "Green Lanes/' on 
account of their verdant and umbrageous foliage, 
and also thickly studded with cottages and villas. 
The prospect is every where beautiful and extensive. 
The eye reposes with pleasure on highly cultivated 
fields, or roves delighted over a magnificent expanse 
of aquatic and mountain scenery. On one side it 
surveys a long sweep of level coast, the romantic 
little island of Ireland's Eye, and the bold promon- 
tory of Howth ; and on the other, Dalkey Isle, the 



P. 265. 
■ reboant sglvceque et longus Olympus. 

VlRG. 

The bank is said to be increasing in height. The Author 
has been informed, that some years ago not a blade 
of grass was to be seen on it. It now affords a scanty 
provender for a few cattle, during the summer months. 
A narrow channel called Crab's Lake, which children 
can wade across at low water, separates it from the main- 
land. It abounds in cockles, razors, and other shell- 
fish ; among its vegetable productions are the salicornia 
and eryngc, or sea-holly. The present pier was not com- 
menced when the poem was written. 



PREFACE. vii 

Rochestown hills, covered with obelisk and tele- 
graphy and the pyramidal mountains of Wicklow. 
These objects form the outline of a circle, which 
comprehends much to gratify a taste for natural 
beauty. A capacious bay, girdled by a shore adorn- 
ed with hamlets and groves to the, water's edge ; 
the light-house, rising fair and majestic from the 
azure surface of the deep ; the pigeon-house, with 
its piers and fortifications, almost insulated by the 
tide ; the vessels spreading their sails to the wind, 
and the city of Dublin in the distance, with its 
spires and domes illumined by the rising sun; — 
all together form a picture whose richness and va- 
riety being seldom equalled, may well excuse the 
enthusiastic admiration which it is frequently known 
to elicit. 

During the bathing season, the shores are greatly 
frequented, and the scene is full of animation. 
Vehicles of all descriptions, from the curricle of the 
peer to the jingle of the plebeian, are seen passing 
rapidly along the road ; and numerous groups of 
bathers are enjoying the refreshing coolness of the 
waves. Few cities, indeed, are more happily circum- 
stanced than Dublin, with respect to the health and 
recreation of their inhabitants, or more disposed to 
avail themselves of the pleasure and advantage, 
which the vicinity of an inviting bay presents. 

An abbey was founded here A.D. 550, the site of 
which is now occupied by the village church, as 
was also a commandery for knights hospitallers, in 
the reign of Henry II. In 1534^ Allen, Archbishop 
of Dublin, the implacable enemy of the Geialdines, 
in endeavouring to make his escape to England, was 
stranded on these shores, and having fled to Ar- 
taine, was inhumanly butchered by the vassals of 
Thomas Fitzgerald, Ciontarf was also the scene of 



*iii PREFACE. 

a desperate conflict between this Fitzgerald and a 
party of troops under the command of two valiant 
leaders, named Ham er ton, one of whom wounded 
Fitzgerald on the head. In 1641, the village was 
burned, under the orders of the Duke of Ormond, 
by Sir Charles Coote, who is justly described as a 
6 ' hot-headed and bloody man."* This severe chas- 
tisement was inflicted for the alleged participation 
of the villagers in the plunder of an English bark 
which had been cast upon the beach. 

Ciontarf derives its chief interest from being the 
scene of the battle in which the Danes received their 
most signal overthrow. They had drawn out all 
then* forces, with auxiliaries from the isles of Man, 
the Hebrides, and the Orkneys, marshalled in three 
columns, under the command of Sitricus, a valiant 
son of the King of Denmark, Carrol and Anrud, 
sons of the King of Norway, Dolatus, Commo- 
laus, and Broder, admiral of the fleet. The last 
brought into the field 1,000 men covered with coats 
of brass. Maolmordha, the rebel King of Leinster, 
joined their standard. 

Brian Boroihme, the Monarch of Ireland, led 
his forces from Kilmainham, where he had been 
encamped, to give them battle. Having observed 
the enemy's array, he divided his troops into three 
corresponding columns. The first was composed of 
Dalcassians, under the command of Mortagh and 
his other sons, Connor, Flaun, Tiege, and Donnal. 
The second division consisted of the Conatians, 
under the command of Teige, son of Cathal, son 
of Connor, principal King of Connaught. The 
third division was formed of the Eugenians and 



* See Carte's Life of Ormond. 



PREFACE. U 

Desians, with the forces of Ulster, led by Cian and 
Carrol. 

While Brian was employed in marshalling his 
troops, he employed all his eloquence to stimulate 
their courage. He reminded them of the wrongs 
they had suffered, and exhorted them to improve 
the opportunity now presented to them of freeing 
their country for ever from the yoke of a relentless 
foe. He called in the aid of religion to kindle their 
valour, and told them that Providence itself seemea 
to have ordained that that day, the anniversary of 
the Saviour's crucifixion, should witness the extir- 
pation of his sacrilegious enemy. At the same time 
he displayed the crucifix, and waving his sword, 
gave the signal of battle. 

Malachy and the forces of Meath, instead of 
obeying the signal, retired from the field. This 
base desertion might have proved fatal to the cause 
of Ireland. But it only animated Brian and his 
warriors to more heroic daring. The conflict, which 
was long and bloody* terminated, according to the 
most popular accounts, in the complete overthrow Gf 
the Danes. Their principal leaders fell, with 
11,000 of their troops. Many of the Irish also 
were slain, and among them, their revered and 
patriotic king, 

II. III. 1. 179. 

After many acts of valour, he was struck down by the 
battle-axe of Broder ■ not however till he had in- 
flicted a mortal wound on his antagonist. But Mor- 
tagh, or Murchad, his son, was the hero of the 
field. He slew Carrol, and cleft Sitricius from the 
head to the waist, by a single blow of his battle- 



x PREFACE. 

axe. Being engaged with Anrud, and his hand dis- 
abled by the repeated blows which he had given, 
he seized him in his arms, shook him out of his 
mail, and placing his breast on the hilt of his sword, 
transfixed the Norwegian to the ground. But this 
was not effected with impunity ; Anrud in his fall 
snatched the dirk which hung by the side of his 
foe, and gave him a deadly wound. 

" The monks of the Abbey of Swords, as soon 
as they were informed of the melancholy event, 
came and took the bodies of Brian Boroimhe and 
Murchad his son, with the heads of Conaing his 
nephew, and of Mothlan prince of the Desies, and 
carried them to the Abbey of Duleek (Doulough) 
and there committed them to the care of the religious 
of St. Cienain, who conveyed them with great fu- 
neral pomp to Swords and thence to Armagh. The 
king was interred on the north side of the great 
church, in a stone coffin by itself, and Murchad and 
the head of Conaing, in another coffin on the south. 
The clergy were for twelve nights waking the 
corpses, with reading of psalms and prayers, and 
chaunting hymns for their souls. Brian's other son 
Doncha returning to Kilmainham with great prey, 
sent a large treasure with jewels and other offerings 
to the successor of St. Patrick, and to the Clergy of 
Armagh/'* 

In the hurry with which the good monks bore 
away the dead, it seems they left part of the regalia be- 
hind them, for ee Brian Boroimhe's sceptre was found 
near Clontarf by Thomas Cornwall, as he was digging 
in his garden, a few years after the battle of the 
Boyne. It remained in his possession till his death, 
and afterwards in that of his son John. About the 

* ArchdalTs Monasticon, pp. 21—256. 



PREFACE. xi 

year 1769 the late Rev. Dean Richardson, of Bel- 
turbet in the County of Cavan, construed some cha- 
racters on it, ■signifying that it belonged to Brian 
Boroimhe Monarch of Ireland."* A harp, also said 
to be his, is shewn in the Museum of Dublin Col- 
lege. The eurious reader may see a history and 
description of this harp in the 4th vol. of Gough's 
Camden's Britannia. Credai Jitdcens Ajpella. 

The Monarch, who was a poet and a musician as 
well as a warrior, composed the air " Thugamvir 
fein an Samhra lin" we bring the summer with us — 
in allusion to the season of the year, or the prospe- 
rity winch he anticipated from the expulsion of the 
Danes.t The battle was fought on Good Friday, 
A.D. 1014. The exact scene has not been ascer- 
tained. The inhabitants of Clontarf say it was 
fought near the Sheds — others lay it in the imme- 
diate vicinity of Dublin. " Knockbrush, near 
Finglass, so corrupted from c Knoc an brise/ the 
hill of the breach or overthrow, has been conjectured 
to be the spot where the greatest number fell. Part 
of the hill is evidently artificial, and tradition says, 
it was raised over those w T ho fell on the spot at the 
battle of Clontarf. Human bones, with those of 
horses, and the remains of military weapons are 
frequently dug up there/'J 

* Foley Ant. June 24, 1787. 

f Walsh. | Idem. 

\ A writer, whom I understand to be Ledwich, in the 
Dublin Magazine for June 1763, supposes the site of the 
battle lay in the New Gardens or Rutland-square, in the 
city of Dublin. He founds his opinion on the circum- 
stance of vast quantifies of bones being found in a trench 
nearly half a mile in length, and intersected by other 
trenches. These bones were mixed with quicklime, 



xii PREFACE. 

- Finibus illis 

Agricola, ia curvo teiTam molitus aratro, 

Exesa inveniet scabra rubigine tela, 

Aut gravibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanes, 

Grandiaque efFosis mirabitur ossa sepulcris. 

Geosg. lib. 1. 495 
The labouring swains 

Who turn the turf of those unhappy plains ; 

Shall rusty piles from the ploughed furrows take, 

And over empty helmets pass the rake, 

Amazed at antique titles on the stones, 

And mighty relics of gigantic bones. — DftYDEN. 

The greater part of the following poem was written 
during a short residence at Clontarf, in the summer 
of 1819. The beauty of the scenery,, combined with 
its historical recollections and local interests, natu- 
rally gave rise to the descriptions and reflections 

which he says the Danes always used to hasten the de- 
composition of the dead.- — It would have served his argu- 
ment better to shew, that the Irish used quicklime for 
this purpose : for the Danes being all routed or slain, the - 
Irish must have celebrated their funeral rites. — " A large 
sword, with a spear of about two feet in length, with num- 
berless pieces of iron, resembling broad rivets, have been 
found among the bones. These rivets, he adds, correspond 
with those described by Ware, as employed to strengthen 
and bind together the military coat of the natives. — Fi- 
ll illy, we have no account in Irish history of any other 
battle in which so great a number fell, as is indicated by 
this vast human debris. — Aware of the objection, that this 
supposed site of the battle is too remote from the place 
which gives it a name, he observes, that it is the custom 
both of ancients and moderns, to name their battles from 
their head quarters; and that those of the Irish army 
were at Clontarf. This is however a mistake. Tne 
Danes, and not the Irish, were encamped there. 



PREFACE. siii 

which it contains. The battle itself was too impor- 
tant a circumstance, not to claim particular atten- 
tion. The preceding abridged account of it, is taken 
from the first volume of Vallancey's Collectanea. The 
original authorities are the annals of Tighernach, 
the annals of Innisfallen, and the Chroniccn Sco- 
torum. 

Loco-descriptive Poetry, though considered as the 
creation of modern times, is coeval with poetry itself. 
The fine pictures of natural scenery which we meet 
in the earliest poets, as that of Calypso's Grotto, 
in the Odyssey, had all their prototypes in nature. 
Horace's account of his farm, and the poem of 
Ausonius en the Moselle, correspond very closely 
with Johnson's description of local poetry, — " The 
fundamental subject of which," he says, " is some 
particular landscape to be poetically described, with 
the addition of such embellishments as may be sup- 
plied by historical retrospection or incidental medi- 
tation." Helicon and Parnassus had been repeatedly 
celebrated by the muse before Cooper's hill ; — and 
Denham truly observes^ " They made not poets, but 
the poets those." Denham, however, has the honor 
of being the first among English poets who have 
cultivated this species of composition, as a distinct 
province of the muse. He has had a host of imita- 
tors, insomuch that in our sister island, 6i not a 
mountain rears its head unsung." 

The poetical description of scenery on which we 
have been accustomed to gaze with delight, is as 
pleasing to the imagination, as its representation 
in a painting is to the eye. But repetition wearies, 
and mere beauty of scene, unless accompanied with 
some singular phenomena, which may afford room 
for the speculations of the philosopher, or the re- 
searches of the antiquary, and are, at the same time, 

A 3 



xir PREFACE. 

susceptible of poetical embellishment, does not afford 
sufficient materials, nor is it capable of exciting a 
powerful enough interest for the objects of the poet. 
Description soon satiates the reader. Tired with the 
contemplation of woods and lakes, of rocks and 
mountains, he longs for subjects of higher moment ; 
and unless the scene described, be mingled with 
historical, fabulous, and romantic associations, turns 
from it with indifference or disgust. The actions of 
human beings stamp true importance on every cele- 
brated region : and hence a barren plain, or rocky 
pass, from the circumstance of its having once been 
the theatre of some mighty struggle, shall possess 
more power in awakening the imagination, than the 
most beautiful landscape in nature. The spot which 
witnessed the atchievements of the hero, and the 
triumph of liberty, become hallowed in his estimation. 
He sees the spirits of the mighty dead hovering 
around him, or he transports himself back to the 
age which their actions have immortalized. He be- 
comes an actor in the scene, and a participator in the 
triumph. 

Such are the impressions which every native of 
Ireland, who takes an interest in the history of his 
country, must feel on the shores of Clontarf. 

Juvat ire et Dorica castra 

Desertosquc videre locos, littusque relic turn ; 

Hie Dolopum manus. hie saevus tendebat Achilles, 
Classibus hie locus, hie acies certare solebat. 

.En. 2d. 

With delight survey 

The cr.mp deserted where the Grecians lay, 
The quarters of the several chiefs they shewed, 
Here Phcenix, here Achilles made abode, 
Here joined the battles, there the navy rode. 

Dry den. 



PREFACE. xv 

The past history of Ireland contains so little to 
gratify a patriotic pride, that the mind receives 
peculiar pleasure from the contemplation of the 
solitary page which records her glory. The age too 
which imagination can invest with the mantle of 
fiction, assumes a double splendour from its contrast 
with the surrounding ages of darkness and crime. 
He who has nothing to admire in the present, and 
little to expect from the future, may be permitted 
to gaze with rapture on the glorious visions of the 
past. 

But let us hope that better times await this 
unfortunate country. The genius of improvement 
has gone forth, and a benevolent spirit is at work 
for her melioration. The great have felt a powerful 
impulse stimulating them to consider the wants, and 
redress the grievances of the poor. Education has 
become a subject of serious thought and active 
employment, from which we may anticipate the hap- 
piest consequences. New sources of industry may 
be opened by the wisdom of a patriotic legislature, 
and Ireland, availing herself of her natural advan- 
tages, become flourishing and happy. She may even 
acquire distinction in scienee, literature, and the 
fine arts, for she is rich in all the nobler elements 
of mind. Give her only due cultivation, and it will 
be found that her intellectual soil is most fertile 
and exuberant. It may be compared to the poet's 
original state of nature, before her strength was 
exhausted, and her prolific energy effete. 

Prseterea nitidas fruges, vinetaque Iseta, 
Sponte sua primum mortalibus ipsa creavit. 
Ipsa dedit dulces foetus, et pabula laeta 
Qusd nunc vix nostra grandescunt ancta labore. 

Lucret. Lib. II. 1. 1157. 



xvi PREFACE. 

Then earth prolific bade rich verdure shoot, 
The joy-inspiring vine, and glossy fruit ; 
And gave, spontaneous, what the laboured soil 
Now yields reluctant to the hands of toil. 

Under every disadvantage she occasionally gives 
birth to some gigantic minds, as specimens of her 
innate powers and immense capabilities. Her Usher 
and her Boyle, — her Swift and her Goldsmith, — her 
Berkley. Burke, Grattan and Plunket, — her Welling- 
ton and her Welle-sley, show what she is capable of 
atchieving in the walks of science and the muse, 
in the senate, the cabinet, and the field. Let Ire- 
land only be made what she is capable of becoming, 
and what country shall rank higher in every thing 
that constitutes the true happiness and glory of a 
]and> 



CLONTARF. 



BOOK FIRST. 



Ast ego despectis, quae census opesque dedemnt, 
Naturae mirabor opus, non cura nepotum, 
Lietaque jacturis ubi luxuiiatur egestas. 
Hie solidae sternunt-humentia littora arenas, 
Nee retinent memores vestigia pressa figuras. 

Ausonii Mosella. 



A 4 



CLONTARF. 



BOOK FIRST, 



SCENERY — AND SHIPWRECK, 

Escaped the city din, with joy, Clontarf, 
I hail thee. In thy pure and fragrant breeze 
Aly soul feels buoyant. The reviving breath 
Of health is round me. As a bird let loose 
From tedious thraldom, I revisit glad 
Thy fields and shores, 'till my emotions burst 
Spontaneous into song.— Thou seem'st from far, 
A wood-crowned island, floating on the waves : 
Such as, of old, might bards have deemed th' abode 
Of some blight goddess, offspring of the sun 
Or sea-born Tethys, anxious to detain 
Her wandering hero, by sweet spells of love. 
£ 



2 CLONTARF. 

Fair are thy daughters : — strong in heart and hand 
Thy sons, true race of ocean, skilled to war 
"With all his tempests. Ever to their toils 
Be heaven benignant. May thy waters flow- 
Clear and salubrious, furrowed by the keel 
Of many a bark with pleasure's streamers gay. 
Here, never more, may pirate Dane unfurl 
His raven ensign : — nor a ruthless Coote 
Kindle the torch of ruin. But may peace 
With downy wing brood o'er thee ; spring adorn 
With all her blooms, and ever round thy bower* 
May sweetest visions float of love and joy ! 

Hither, as oft as summer suns glow bright, 
Swarms forth the city hive, to taste the sweets 
Of rural life. Then fervid grows the beach- 
Wheels smoke on wheels, and crouds amid the wave* 
Seek health and recreation. To the eye 
Of poet, all the ocean deities 

Seem congregating here. Nor wants there aught 
Of Neptune's equipage, the plunging steed, 
The bending car, and Triton's sounding shell. 

All-potent nature ! o'er the heart of man, 
How by a thousand, and ten thousand ties 
Of subtlest texture, yet more strong than links 
Of adamant, dost thou preserve thy reign ? 
How, with each sweet returning spring, revive 
His native instinct, — maugre all the wiles 
0f artificial life, renew the taste 



CLONTARF. 

Derived from our first parents, when they culled 
The flowers of Eden ? wide thou spread' st for him 
Thy vast munificence, and with a sound 
That wakes and warms his spirit, bid'st him come 
To worship at thy shrine by mountain top, 
Forest or ocean. Loud thy welcome voice 
Swells in the breeze — it carols in the woods, 
It murmurs in the streams, it peals more loud 
In thunders, billows, cataracts, and storms ; 
Celestial music ! echoing to the heart, 
And tingling every nerve with extasy. 

Too much, I own, has art on nature here, 
Forced her dominion.— To the eye of taste 
Yon castle walls were fairer in the hues 
Of time-strewed lichen, and of ivy green 
Hung o'er the battlements with broken arch, 
And loop-hole dark and close, than thus disguised^ 
Like some trim cottage in a white-washed coat. * 
The ruin's charm is gone : no fancy's power 
Can e'er restore it. — But though graceless art 
Has trodden here, and with division quaint, 
And mural fence, deformed the soil which God 
Made beautiful, enough may Nature boast 
To claim the homage of the Muse's son. 
Ah ! sure to him, who cooped in city walls, 



* Quanto preestantius esset 

Numen aquae, viridi si margine clauderct undas 
Uerba, nee ingenuirai violent marmora tophum. 

Juvenal. 



4 CLONTARF. 

Has numbered sad the winter's tedious hours, 

'Tis precious, though but once, to see the fields 

In vernal robes, rich glistering with dews, 

The pearls and gems of heaven ; to feel the cool 

Delicious fragrance of the morning air, 

Fresh breathed from paradise, or view from far 

The ocean reddening with Aurora's fires ;— 

To hear the carols of the soaring lark, 

The insect's buzz, or hum of merry bee. 

Dear is the joy to eyes long tired like mine, 

(For still from contrast man's chief pleasure springs,) 

With scenes monotonous, brick, slate, or stone, 

All forms quadrangular, in street or lane, 

To trace by lakes and seas, in flower and tree. 

Coral or wreathed shell, the magic line 

Of beauty ever varying, ever new. 

Here Nature still presides, and still she reigns 

In solitary wildness, where the tides, 

In silvery folds, enchase yon sounding sands. 

Blue rolls yon ocean, as when first it gushed 

New from creation's urn. Yon mountain cones, 

How beautiful their outline, as it flows 

Continuous, pictured on the dark-blue sky ! 

Have stood unchanged, since hands omnipotent 

Heaved them from chaos, Lo ! a mighty page, 

In its primeval lustre, here displays 

The glories of th s Eternal. Man may raze 

Art's strongest fabrics ; — woods or harvests spring 

Where stood the rampired fortress ;— couch the deer 

°3DA the wild heath wliich hides the ancient site 



CLONTARF. 

Of mighty capital ; — but Nature smiles 
At change and dissolution. Works of man 
Are fragile bubbles on the tide of time, 
They burst and disappear : — but Nature stands 
Unchanged, imperishable — aye the same. 

Yet be not Art unhonoured. — Yon fair mole 
That o'er the azure lifts its mural sides, 
May tell what homage man should pay to Art. 
Its broad foundations on the sands she spread, 
To limit their invasion:— dense and strong 
She reared its fabric, stable as the walls 
Of fenced metropolis, Piraean port, 
Or causeway, work of Finnian giants old. 
The neaj: extreme, where once the dove-cot stood, 
She strengthened as a citadel of war, 
With towers and bastions, rampires, embrasures, 
And magazines of death.— -But there she raised 
A beauteous Pharos of colossal height, 
Pyramidal, with alabaster brow, 
Encircled by a crystal diadem, 
Radiant with living fire from night till morn : 
Meet dwelling for the Genius of the scene, 
For thence around, as from a central throne, 
His eye may all his wide domain survey. 
Majestic structure, ever may'st thou stand, 
Firm-seated as the rock that weaves his roots 
Round the earth's centre. 'Mid the roaring storms 
That gather o'er thee, tranquil may'st thou shine, 
As the bright planet that from azure skies 



6 CLONTARF. 

Looks placid down, and smiles to sudden peace 
The elemental war. To reason's view 
More beautiful art thou, and more sublime. 
Than proudest monument that e'er arose 
To hero's glory. Thou record'st no tale 
Of blood or crime. Defiance on thy walls 
Hangs no proud banner ; but Benevolence greets 
A temple in thee, and thy sacred fires 
Are kindled from her altar. As a friend 
Found faithful 'mid the faithless, thou art warm, 
And bright, and cheering, when the world is dark, 
And cold, and comfortless. O'er howling seas, 
Through coilied night, when peers no star in heaven^ 
Thou fling' st thy radiance, grateful to the soul 
Of lorn sea-pilgrim. Hope is in the ray, 
And at its magic touch a thousand joys 
Are springing to his heart: — he grasps in thought 
His parents, wife, or children to his breast:— 
He calls the gathering winds, — the vessel bounds 
As if his wish inspired her, and with morn 
She sweeps thy base, and anchors in thy waves. 

Glorious the scene that bursts upon the sight 
Of weary wanderer, when with orient day 
His ship salutes the waves of green Clontarf. 
Tranced by its beauty, fondly does he deem 
The land of faery nigh. Not Bail's shores^ 
Nor gay Neapolis, nor Corinth's gulf, 
Nor Hellespontine strait, nor eastern isle, 
Rising rich- wooded o'er her coral rocks, 



CLONTARF. 7 

Exhaling spices " many a league to sea," 
Can match the glories of this noble bay. 
If o'er the waters no volcano flings 
A purple radiance ; no mephitic airs 
Pollute the atmosphere ; no thunders roar 
Beneath the firm-set hills ; but zephyrs bland 
I Breathe health and fragrance through the winding vales j 
Perennial verdure clothes them ; crystal rills 
Are bounding musical from rock to rock ; 
And all the mountain Genii see their realms 
Stand as they stood when first the vocal winds 
Awoke their echoes. — Roves th' excursive glance 
From Dalkey islet o'er Martello tower, 
Spire or tall obelisk, till high it climbs 
Yon peaks that swell o'er Dargle's fay-loved stream. 
Now round Athcliath's* hilly ridge it sweeps, 
O'er many a rural glen, o'er rivers, woods, 
Turret, and windmill whose revolving anus 
Woo every breeze, and every scene enrich 
With animation. On Marino's groves, 
Loved of each Muse, it lingers with delight ; 
Then darts along the cottage-studded beach, 
To the Ipw isthmus, o'er whose sandy bed 
The isle of holy Nessan lifts its brow ; 
Nessan, whose arm transfixed and turned to stone, 
The minister of Satan* Thence it climbs 
The eagle's ancient haunt, Beneider'sf height, 
Whose wavy outline marks the form supine 

$ Dublin hills, f The ancient jiame of the hill of Howth, 



§ CLONTARF. 

Of some Typhoeus, whose enormous limbs* 
Immortal hands have fettered to the rock, 
By links infrangible. Or say, if there, 
Thy spell-bound genius locked in iron sleeps 
Erin, be imaged ? High the throbbing heart 
Expands with rapture ; odours sweet of flowers 
Load the soft zephyrs, while the chant of birds, 
Music extatic to an ear long tired 
With the hoarse murmurs of the surges, steals 
On the charmed sense as harmony from heaven. 
| Bright from the opal portals of the morn 
Has rolled the car of day. In gorgeous robes, 
Tiiick starred with gems, and diademed with light, 
The god, the god appears. The silvery waves 
Exulting dance. The rocks and woods assume 
The tints of heaven, and now the city stands 
Glittering in fluid gold. The towers and spires 
Like burnished shafts of fire, with glory stream 
Up to the crystal vault, while domes and bowers 
Of glassy fabric, kindling in the ray, 
As if with vital spirit, o'er the tide 
With long reflections glance. Transporting sight !- 
O fair illumination ! what could man, 
In celebration of high festival, 
E'er do to rival this ? The stranger's heart 
Thrills with sweet extasy, and he could wish 
To linger long, and feast his ravished eye 
On these Elysian prospects ; — such he deems 
The scenes around him, — such th' abodes of bliss 
Seen by the prophet in celestial trance. 



CLONTARF. 

Nor less the joy, at evening's tranquil hour, 
When flames the western clime with all the tint* 
Of many-coloured light, to guide the skiff 
O'er the smooth waters, and around survey 
The scene magnificent. The city bell 
Now tolls "the death of day," a solemn sound, 
That in the Muse's pensive bosom wakes 
Sweet recollections. Now no vapour's breath 
Dims the pure sky, nor in confusion throws 
The forms of things ; but one unblending line, 
With nice precision, stamps the bound distinct, 
Of light and shadow. Yon lone tree so marked 
Stands in the crystal air, that eve*y branch, 
And each particular leaf, the copyist's hand 
Might well depict. So rides yon anchored bark, 
Defined as clear as if an angel's hand 
Had stamped her dark impression on a sheet 
Of burnished ore. Another bark as fair, 
In beauty, shape, and magnitude, the same, 
With masts down pointing to the nether sky, 
Beneath her floats. How in a moment thus, 
In playful mood, does nature emulate 
The proudest works of art ? Her own fair forms 
Thus 'tis her joy to multiply, and trace 
Their bright similitude in lake or stream. 
For this, as now, she smooths the placid tide, 
Nor lets a breeze with winnowing plume disturb 
An image in its mirror. 

When the star 
Of eve exalts her crescent, that sweet hour 



10 CLOXTARF. 

By bards and sages loved, Oh ! let me rove 

Thro' yon green bowers where oft with long-drawn sighs? 

The owl alarms th' unconscious passenger, 

"Who starts, and turns, and thinks unearthly sounds 

Are muttering round him. — Oft to future worlds 

Let my thoughts soar, from where the village church 

In shade embosomed, hides its modest head, 

An emblem fair of unobtrusive worth. 

There, 'mid the wrecks of death, appropriate site ! 

The fane of Immortality proclaims 

Her deathless triumphs. — Yet while here I muse 

Beneath these towering elms, I ask no aid 

Of architectural pomp, to lift my soul 

To the great source of good. I here behold 

The grand primeval temple, — here can trace 

The archetype sublime ef Gothic arch, 

Of clustering pillar, and the fretted roof : 

Nor wants there storied window to reflect 

The " dim religious light," nor dulcet sound 

Of organ, to exalt the thought devout ; 

Since through long vistas in the ebon sky, 

Now gemmed with stars, a present deity 

Reveals his glories, while the whispering winds 

Fill with melodious breath, the breath of heaven, 

Each branch and leaf, 'till with symphonious burst. 

They chant their halleluiah more sublime, 

Than e'er re-echoed through Cathedral aisle. 

But oft a music peals sublimer still, 
From yonder sands, when round them wildly roars 
The storm-swept ocean.— Lcves the Muse to rove 



CLONTARF. 11 

Along their margin, when the ebbing waves 
Breathe their last murmurs, while the mid-day sun 
Flames in the sky, and in his golden ray 
Smile the crisped seas. Not unprolific deem 
These tide- encircled sands, though such they seem 
To minds ne'er tuned sweet sympathy to hold 
With Nature's harmonies. To souls like mine, 
As now attempered, not the gay parterre, 
With rich carnations dight, seems half so fair, 
For here I stand upon creation's floor, 
Swept by the winds, and garnished by the floods, 
And commune sweet with Nature's ministers ; 
The spirits benign, of ocean, earth, and air, 
That love to breathe unutterable thoughts, 
Sublime, devout, and with man's spirit claitn 
Kindred immortal. 

In those small ridged sands 
Imagination shapes the works of man, 
Cities and towers, raised by one tide of time, 
And by another swept from earth away ; 
E'en as those tiny furrows which the surf 
Is flowing to efface. And now afar 
To Afric's billowy wilderness of sands, 
She wafts me, where beneath the fiery drift, 
Whole caravans, and legions' armed array 
Have sunk and perished. But these ridges lie 
A Ann set rampire, to secure the beach 
From mining surges, nor in columns raised 
Stalk forth terrific, nor in eddying whirls, 



12 CLONTARF. 

Borne by the tempests, e'er on fertile lands 

Descend with barrenness ; though oft in streams 

Before the wind, with rapid course they run, 

Amusive, like the streamers in the sky. 

High on their topmost ridge the bent grass twines 

Its binding roots, and rustles to the blast. 

Euphorbia, here, concocts her acrid juice, 

And in yon saltmarsh Salicornia rears 

Her jointed branches, leafless, but replete 

With spirit alkaline, whose chymic spell 

Turns stubborn flint, relenting in the flames, 

To purest crystal. The Eryngo too 

Here sits a queen among the scanty tribes 

Of vegetable race. Around her neck 

A gorgeous ruff of leaves with arrowy points 

Averts all rough intrusion. On her brow 

She binds a crown of amethystine hue, 

Bristling with spicula, thick interwove 

With clustering florets, whose light anthers dance 

In the fresh breeze, like tiny topaz gemsJ 

Here the sweet rose would die : but she imbibes 

From arid sands, and salt-sea dew-drops, strength : 

The native of the beach, by nature formed 

To dwell among the ruder elements. 

So have I known a youthful genius schooled 

By stern misfortune, and though seldom fanned 

By breath of praise, or freshened by the dew 

Of balmy favour, yet collect a strength 

And rich adornment, foreign to the clime, 

Languid and breezeless, of luxurious ease,-- • 



CLONTARF. 13 

Here congregate the ocean-loving birds, w 
Mew, plover, curlew, with the sand lark fleet, 
Lorn nightingale of ocean, whose shrill plaint, 
Heard in deep darkness, bids the pilot flee 
The leeward shore. In many an airy round 
They wheel aloof, or quick descending, dash 
The spray, that round them curdles like a surge 
Of fluid silver. When the storm has spent 
| His fury, here may Nature's votary cull 
I Spoils of the deep, that strew the beach, as wrecks 
Of men and horses strew some battle field. 
May here admire the tints profusely spread, 
Of universal beauty ; — how they glow 
In every streak that rays th' enamelled shell j 
Float in the beaded wreck ; with emerald light, 
Or burning crimson paint the sea nymph's bow^r, 
Sparkle in foam, and twinkle in the sand. 
Torn from his mooring here the shell fish lies 
Stranded, with sea mouse fulgent in Iris mail 
Of bristly gold ; with sponge and cqraline, 
And urchin's fragile dome. Here too, alas ! 
Far other spoils, oars, masts, and keels, have told 
More sad disaster. Croud your canvas wings, 
Far from this fatal shore, ye vessels fly. 
Here Shipwreck dwells ; here spreads her cruel snares ; 
Gaunt giant fiend, in mists she wraps her form, 
And stalks among the breakers ; new she sleeps ; 
She wakes but in the storm. — Securely now 
Hence may ^e view, disporting in the waves, 
The finny tribes — and lo ! the fisher draw$ 
B 2 



14 CLONfARF. 

His net, deep laden with the mullet shoal, 
That vainly strove, like terror-stricken deer, 
T' o'erleap the snare. Along the yellow slopei 
The fishers household, women, children, rove, 
E'en as the race of Zebulqn, to suck 
Th' abundance of the seas, and treasure seek 
Hid in the sand.* 

Fond Memory here revives 
Xach dream-like image of the days gone by ; 
What time, on other shores, with Attic Hay 
I chaced the scaly brood, or 'mid the throng 
Of giddy schoolboys, 6ported in the waves, 
Or, with young triumph, saw the tiny ship, 
Fair miniature of such as bear afar 
The thunder of Britannia, in the race 
Shoot past her rivals. Oft we traced the mark 
Of sea-fowl in the sand, or wished for wings 
Their flight to follow, and among them float 
On the smooth swell. The live-long summer day 
"vVe whiled in wandering by the giant cliffs, 
Or ^Nereid's grottos, gathering as we strayed 
Pebble or flower. Anon we stood amazed 
Beside some monster of the ocean, wedged 
Among the rocks ; and, with insatiate eye,f 

* Deuteronomy xxxiii. 19. 



-nequeunt expleri corua tuendo 



Terribiles ocuios. vuiium, ▼iilosaqhe setis 
Peetora semiferi, atque extinctos fcuicibi s i^ner. 

viRr.n. rue 



CLONTARF. 15 

Scanned the leviathan, that erst had stormed 
The hoary deep, with coriaceous fin, 
And jaw enormous. Oft we heard the tale 
Of mermaids rising from their coral grots, 
And as they combed their oozy tresses green, 
Chanting such strains of witching harmony, 
As in oblivion wrapt the sailor's soul : 
While the tranced pilot, guided by the strain, 
Full on the hidden rocks his vessel steered, 
And rued, too late, that e'er he bowed his ear 
To such enchantment. — Those were days of bliss, 
By Memory loved, she lives them o'er again. 

How beautifully still is all around ! 
Calm as the couch where slumber seals the eye 
Of infant innocence, in deep repose 
These sandy ridges and the waters sleep, 
Wrapt in the golden effluence of day. 
Far different the scene, when wintry winds 
Rush from their frozen caves, and Eurus rides 
On the dark clouds, when by her powerful spell 
Th' attractive moon has called around her throne 
The congregated floods. Then roars the might 
Of ocean, sheeted all in raging foam ; 
The labouring vessels fly ; the thundering surge 
Rolls o'er the piers, and mariners thank Heaven 
That they are not at sea. 

Yet Memory weeps 
Tnat night's sad horrors, when a luckless bark 



X6 CLONTARF. 

Was hurled upon these sands. Elate with hope, 
Some hundred warriors, who in many a field 
Had gathered laurels, in this bark re-sought 
Their native Erin. Nearer as they drew, 
Each spell of /country, with magnetic power, 
"Wrought in their souls, and all the joys of home 
Hushed on their fancy. Some, in thought, embraced 
Their happy parents, and the lover clasped 
His fair one to his breast. Another morn, 
And all these joys are real ! Onward speed 
Thou fleet-winged bark ! More fleet than sea-bird skim* 
The floods, she sped. Soon Erin's shores arose :— 
Howth glimmered in the west, and Wicklow's hills 
Were blue in the horizon. Then they hailed 
Their own green island, and they chanted loud 
Their patriot gratulations, 'till the sun 
Gave them his last farewell. He sank in clouds 
Of red portentous glare ; when dreary night 
Condensed around them, and a mountain swell 
Announced the coming tempest. Wrapt in sleet, 
And arrowy Are it came. The cutting blast 
Smote sore: — yawned the precipitous abyss ;— 
Roared the torn surges. — From his slippery stand 
In vain the pilot cast a wistful look, 
Some friendly light to spy ; — but all wassajark,— • 
Nor moon, nor star, nor beacon light was seen, 
Wiiile in the yeasty foam half-buried toiled 
The reeling ship. — At length that dreadful sound 
Which mariners most dread, the fierce wild din 
Of breakers, — raging on the leeward shore, 



CLONTARF. IT 

Appalled the bravest. — On the sands she struck* 
Shivering, as in the cold and deadly grasp 
Of dissolution. Agonizing screams 
Were heard within, which told that hope was fled. 
Then might some counsel sage, perchance, have wrought 
A great deliverance. But what shipwrecked crew 
E'er list to counsel ? Where 'tis needed most, 
'Tis most despised. In such a fearful hour, 
Each better feeling dies, and cruel self 
Sears all of human in the heart of man. 
None counselled safety — but a fell design 
Rose in the captain's breast, above the throng 
To close the hatches, while himself and crew 
Flee to the boat, and hope or chance to 'scape, 
Leave to the captives none. The recreant slaves 
Their ship deserting, in the faithful skift^ 
For once too faithful, sweep the foaming gulf, 
And reach the strand. But ahi the gallant throngs 
Locked in the dungeon hold, around them hear 
The roaring cataracts ;— -their shrieks and groans, 
With threats and prayers, and mingled curses, speak 
Their soul's last agonies. What boots their prayers, 
Their groans, or rage to madness by their wrongs 
Exasperated high ? Will storms grow cairn, 
Or warring surges hear the suppliant's voice, 
When man has steeled his heart ? Oh ! now to die 
Amid the strife of arms were extasy ! 
Aye — e'en to perish in the conflict rude 
With seas and storms, beneath the cope of heaven, 
Where their last breath might mingle with the winds ' 
B 3 



IS CLONTARF. 

But thus to die inglorious ! thus immured, 

As in some den of hell ! They chafe in vain,—* 

So chafes the lion in the hunter's trap, 

So in his coiHn turns, with dire dismay, 

The wretch unwittingly entombed alive. 

Now torn and wrecked — deep-cradled in the sands, 

The vessel lies. Through all her yawning sides 

She drinks the flood. Loud o'er her roars the surge, 

But all within — is still. 

"When morn arose, 
The neighbouring villagers with pity saw 
The relics of the storm. The ebbing tide 
High on the sand had left the shattered bark, 
And from her sides by many a cranny dripped 
The oozing brine. Her deck they quickly climbed ; — 
But oh ! what horror shocked them when they saw 
The scene of death within ! All ghastly pale, 
Corse upon corse lay piled, as in a grave 
Dug to receive the -victims of a plague, 
In some vast city, where the numerous dead 
Exceed the living. Deep contusions some 
Bore on their limbs ;— some yet retained the scowl 
Of wrathful indignation ; — one had clenched 
His useless faulchion ; others more resigned, 
JIad closed their lives with prayer, and on their brow. 
As on a wintry cloud, yet unefFaced, 
Shone faint, or seemed to slnne, some waning beasns 
Of heaven's warm radiance. In one small recess 
A female lay, as placid as if sleep, 



CLONTARF. 19 

With dewy finger, just had closed her eyes> 

And steeped her senses in some happy dreams 

A lovely smile was lingering on her lip, 

As loth to quit a tenement so fair. 

A face so mild, so exquisitely sweet, 

So full of heaven, would skilful artist choose 

A model for the features he would carve 

Of resignation. To her bosom clung 

A tender babe, close nestled in the folds 

Of her fond arms. Its little marble cheek 

Might seem an angel's, such as sculptor's hand 

Forms beautiful, to grace the early tomb 

Of some loved child. Caressing and caressed, 

Lovely in death they slept : — and of their sleep 

A third partook, the husband and the sire : 

For such he seemed, and o'er them had he spread 

His warrior cloak, and round them twined his arm 

In close embrace, as if resolved that death 

Should ne'er divide them,— 

In one grave they lie, 
No marble speaks, nor muse records their name. 



END OF THE FJRST BOOK, 



CLONTARF. 



BOOK SECOND. 



-Karttifot yaiccv og%qcrry)$ i/ Agvis, 

Lycophron 254, 



NuJlius addictus jurare in verba magistri. 

Ifor. 



CLONTARF. 



BOOK SECOND, 



THE BATTLE — HISTORIC RETROSPECT — PRAISE OF ERIN 

"Wake, harp of Erin, wake ! my hand once more 
Is on thy chords, and from her secret cell 
Evokes the spirit of song. Oh ! wake, and breathe 
Heroic numbers, such as thou wast wont, 
When mighty minstrels in the olden time, 
To themes heroic strung thee. Let Clontarf, 
That field of glory, now the spirit stir 
That yet within thee lives. — 2%ot stream, nor wood, 
Nor rock, nor mountain, but the deeds of men 
Adorn a land. The crag where burned the strife 
For liberty or empire, to the Muse 
Exhales an odour sweeter than the gale 
£2 



n CLONTARF, 

From aromatic bowers. The vagrant winds 

Delight to linger on the hallowed spot, 

And with its redolence perfume their breath. 

A spirit issues from the very rocks 

Once tinged with patriot blood, to fire with thoughts 

Devout, ineffable. — Who e'er has trod 

The field of Marathon, nor felt his heart 

So swell and throb, as if it longed to bursi 

Its narrow confines ?—» Such a spirit now, 

Ciontarf, is on me ; such emotions swell 

My panting bosom, as I hail thy soil 

Where Erin's sabre foiled the martial pride 

Of Lochlim= — Far around the winding beach, 

I see, I see, in splendid vision, rise, 

The Danish ranks : — their banners float on high , 

Their plumy crests are dancing in the wind ; 

Their spears, innumerous as the biaded grass, 

Glance in the sun, above the close array 

Of corselets, coats of brass, and blazoned shields, 

The burnished scales of angry dragon war 

Now rampant for the fight. The chieftains move 

With martial port exultant in the van ; 

Defiance in their looks, and in their arms 

The sinewy strength of battle. O'er the host 

Towers Sitricus, and with a warrior's eye 

Surveys the field, well practised where to guide 

The steely tempest. There with Carrol comes 

The dark-plumed Anrud, Norway's royal sons, 

Stern in their hearts of pride, and flushed with hope 

Of conquest and renown In bannered ranks, 



CLONTARF. 25 

Dolatus, Commolaus, 'and the might 

Of Broder, bring their native squadrons on ; 

Broder, grim leader of the Danish fleet. 

He wields a ponderous mace, with iron spikes 

Thick studded — in the blood of heroes dyed, 

And potent as a thunderbolt to burst 

The close- wedged phalanx. He surveys with joy 

His sea-born warriors, clothed in shining brass, 

Poising the keen-barbed pike. — Next, Orkney's earl, 

Sigurd, the lawless royer of the deep, 

With Mar and Lennox, and the islands' lord, 

Unhappy not to find a grave at home, 

Lead on their tartaned clans. The distant rear, 

Pale Maolmordha, Leinster's rebel prince, 

Closes, ashamed in such a cause to stand 

Bold in the van.— But darker shades shall soon 

O'erwhelm the traitor, when his country's sword 

Is revelling in his ranks ; and paler hues 

Shall cloud his visage, when he sinks to earth, 

Beneath its vengeful stroke. — Now wide unfurled 

The raven standard, dark terrific sign 

Of spoil and carnage, spreads its charms accursed 

O'er Lochlin's ranks, inspiring fearless rage 

And confidence in fate ; — but on the foe 

Lowering in terror, as a cloud exhaled 

From Hela, ready with careering fires 

To sweep thro' earth and heaven. The fair-haired youth* 

The choice of all their thousands, round it form 

A bristly bulwark : but they strive in vain 



26 CLONTARF. 

To avert the doom inexorable fate 
Decrees its bearers. 

Soon, that fair array, 
Fair as the rebel host that warred in heaven, 
Shall rough confusion mar. For sweeping on 
The might cf Erin comes. So comes a storm 
Of mingled hail and fire. In three dense bands 
To Lochlin's hosts opposed, with beamy crests 
And bristling spears they move. Who leads the van, 
Towering in steel, refulgent as the sun ? 
A helmet starred with gems, and crested high 
With royal plumes, that oft in fields of death 
Have shone the guiding star, invests his brow : 
Deep flows his beard, a stream of silvery light, 
Majestic as the locks of Phidian Jove, 
Bright-blazoned and orbicular his shield 
Of adamantine frame, embossed with gold, 
A glorious meteor, shoots portentous fires 
Far o'er the field. His sword, a massy beam 
Of fixed blue lightning, maddens to descend 
In thunder on the foe. His gait proclaims 
The hero and the king. Hail ! great Boroinihe,* 
Monarch of Erin ! fame this day shall grave, 
With style of adamant, thy deathless name 
Upon her brightest page. Beside him, lo ! 
Young Tirlogh lowers defiance from his brow, 
And ?vIortagh shakes red terrors from his lance, 
The full-plumed eagles of the royal nest, 
* Pronounced Boron, 



CLONTARF. 2T 

That come to pounce the vultures of the land. 

The spirit of the isle is forth to-day ; 

And Erin's warriors from her farthest shores, 

E'en from Benmore to Lane's romantic waves, 

Croud to the conflict : true Milesian hearts, 

The blood of mighty Fionn, and the race 

Of Conn, victorious in a hundred fights : 

The soldiery of Dalcais, Cathol's son, 

And Maolruna, with Momonia's line, 

There lift their banners : with the Desian youth, 

The famed Eugenians, and rough Ullin's pride, 

That chivalry renowned, the red-branch knights. 

Who spur their foamy steeds, and pant to try 

The temper of their blades on Danish crests. 

See, nearer as they move, the bloody hand 

Waves stern defiance to the raven's pride ; 

And Connaught's leopard bids his spots assume 

A sanguine dye. One mighty spirit breathes 

Through all their ranks, — one impulse drives them on, 

Oh ! 'tis a sight to whirl the languid blood 

Of age quick-dancing through the shrivelled veins. 

They come ! — they come ! — I see their dark-green plumes 

Wave in the wind, with many a shamrog wreath, 

And quilted habergeon, and purfied stole, 

And saffron- tinctured girdle, that with charms 

Unearthly guards the wearer, — crimson shields, 

With emerald corslets, bows and blades of steel. 

The galloglass to-day has sharpened well 

The broad-eyed spear of battle — well the kern, 

Whose matted locks more strong than cap of proof 



28 CLONTARF. 

Resist the sabre's edge, his sling has trained, 

With quick gyration, on the distant foe 

To hurl his missile deaths. Now many a bard, 

At intervals, along th' extended line, 

In robes of green, by broach of virgin gold 

Close-cinctured, stirs the genius of his harp, 

Kindling Bellona's fury. In the mood 

Of frenzied inspiration, hark ! they wake 

The battle hymn. " On, men of Erin, on !" — 

The monarch taught it to the sons of song. 

u On, warriors, on ! — a summer's day we bring, 

A day of victory, of fair renown, 

And liberty to Erin."— 

Well the part 
Both of a soldier and a king to-day 
Does Erin's monarch fill. With eagle eye 
He marks the quarry, and the fatal swoop 
Premeditates. His better hand sustains 
The trusty falchion, while his left displays 
The holy rood, and thus with ardor fired, 
He breathes through all his own heroic soul. 

u Warriors of Erin ! — lo ! — the wished-for day, 
To drive yon ruthless robbers from the land ; — 
The day of vengeance for your ravaged fields, 
Your flocks devoured, your desolated halls, 
Your temples robbed with sacrilegious hands, 
Your wives insulted, and your children slain. 
By this blest emblem of the power which broks 



CLONTARF. 29 

Death's iron sceptre, — oh ! by him who died 

For man's salvation on this sacred morn, 

Crush these idolaters, whose steps pollute 

Your parent soil, erst hallowed by the tread 

Of holy saints, whose spirits hover now 

Round us invisible. I hear their wings 

Sound musical, as o'er our heads they float, 

To note our deeds. — In such a cause to die 

Is bliss the highest ; — heaven but grant me this, 

With victory, my soul can ask no more ! 

Who falls, falls glorious ; — all his country's tears 

Embalm his memory, while his spirit mounts 

Exultant on the wings of cherubim, 

To meet the gratulations of the brave 

Who for their country died. — By all your wrongs, 

By all your hopes, like fire and tempest sweep 

Through their rent columns. Let the patriot's rage 

Burn in your souls, with triple strength invest 

Your well-strung nerves, and edge your hungry steel. 

Now, men of Erin, for your hoary sires, 

Your wives, your children, and your fathers' graves. 

Impetuous smite. Like wrecks upon the beach 

Strew their scathed corses ; with unsparing flame 

Seize on their fleets, and let them blaze aloft, 

A sacrifice to freedom. Warriors on ! 

For God and Erin !" 

Instant at the word, 
Gallgrena, sun-burst banner, like a sheet 
Of crimson light, waves o'er th' embattled host, 



30 CLONTARF. 

Each arm has poised the shield, and every hand 
Has grasped the trenchant steel, and every breast 
Is burning with a fierce and wild delight. 
Rattles the quiver, — rings the plaited mail,— 
Hums the tight bow-string as the archer tries 
The music of its voice. — The levelled spear 
Protruded glances : the impetuous rush 
Of steps is on the field, — and on they come 
In strong, compact, and terrible array, 
A cataract of flame that marks its path 
With desolation, fear, despair, and death. 

Twangs the tough bow — the flint-head arrow flies ; 
Showered from the sling the leaden hail of fate, 
And iron sleet of javelin, from each host, 
Clash in mid air, and challenge closer fight. 
They meet— they close — so on the whirling surge 
By adverse currents urged, two icebergs tilt 
With wild encounter, 'till their crystal towers, 
Spires, and tall battlements all shivering sink 
With horrid din, while ocean far around, 
Torn by the fierce concussion, roars and foams* 
Kow foot to foot, — and hand to hand the toil 
Of battle is begun : — shield upon shield 
Clashes:— aloud the stricken helm resounds: 
Spears shiver ; — swords, with fierce resistance edged. 
Ring upon swords, and far from right to left 
The conflict rages. Mid the hewing brands 
Hurry the feathered shafts. The hard blue steel 
Darts through the wicker targe. Again in gore, 



CLONTARF. SI 

The sea-horse tusk that hilts the warriors blade 

Its white enamel stains. The vernal grass 

Is sprent with crimson dew. The stunning din 

To heaven re-echoes— here the victors' shouts, 

There deep expiring groans. Now many a crest, 

And many a riven targe has strewed the dust. 

Each chief of Erin through the Danish lines 

Makes desperate breach. See — Tirlogh leads the way, 

And Mortagh raging like a lion's dam 

Robbed of her whelps, has burst their serried files. 

The monarch's arm though touched by envious age, 

Now seems all vigorous with immortal youth, 

As mid the forest of opposing spears 

He hews his course, o'er splintered shafts and swords, 

Corslets and shields, the dying and the dead. 

E'en as the spirit of the wintry wind 

Sweeps through the leafless wood, and marks his path 

With fractured icicle and shivered branch, 

And many a wreath of snow. 

Nor less the rage 
Of Lochlin's chiefs. — They wield no pointless lance # 
Nor bloodless sabre, nor is Albyn's glaive 
With no red glories gilt. Not idle hangs 
The mace of Broder, nor do feeble hands 
Brandish his reddening pikes. Stern Sitric there, 
Here dauntless Anrud with tempestuous force, 
Resistless as the roaring avalanche, 
On Erin's ranks his might precipitates. 
Now, sons of Media, now close lock vour shields, 

c 3 



32 CLONTARF. 

Grasp firm your spears, for yours the glorious post 
Of danger and renown. Upon the foe 
Roll back the surge of battle, and o'er whelm 
Beneath his own recoil. — Confusion J— death !— 
Can Tara undulate ? — Does treason own 
False-hearted Malachy ? — Oh ! recreant king ! 
Will no swift javelin from his country's hand 
Transfix him to the dust ? — May burning pangs 
Of grief, remorse, and everlasting shame, 
Cling to the traitor that in hour like this, 
From selfish policy or party hate, 
Declines to share the glory or the wounds 
That wait his country ! 

Fired with high disdain, 
Mortagh beholds his faithless allies flee, 
And, as though Erin on Ins single arm 
Now fixed her trust, his brave Dalcassians leads 
To stem the torrent, wielding, as he moves, 
His brand, that; like the thunder's bolting fires, 
Falls terrible. Nought stands its deadly dint.— - 
Helm, shield, and gorge of steel dissevering burst 
Beneath its strokes. Unhappy are the sires 
Whose sons dare meet them. Bold Conmaol falls, 
And Sitricus ; — one swift-descending rush 
Of Mortagh' s blade has cleft him to the waist. 
Now Lochlin yields. — Ho ! Anrud, dar'st thou meet 
The arm of Mortagh ? See, his gory steel 
Smites down thy broken files, —Kis rage withstand. 
Or flee inglorious, and the day is lost !— 



CLONTARF. S3 

The chiefs have met ; — so meet two bounding rocks, 
Shaken by earthquake from opposing hills. 

No time for parle— ^but well their looks declare 
Desperate resolves and ire implacable. 
The combatants, around, their lifted blades 
Suspend to mark the fight. — The dirge of death 
"Rings on their angry steel. They turn, they wind, 
And many a feint is made, by equal skill 
Turned frustrate. Long the scale of battle hangs 
In equipoise, 'till Mortagh's wounded hand, 
Wounded, and wearied by incessant toil, 
Its energy has lost. The triumph now 
Proud Anrud deems his own. That stunning blow 
Sent fulminating down on Mortagh's crest, 
Repels him staggering. Erin for her chief 
Now pales and trembles. But his fearless soul 
Unbending shrinks not. Lo ! elate he bounds 
With renovated strength, and on the foe, 
Now feeble by his own puissant deed, 
Springs swift as falcon on the feathered game, 
Or serpent coiling round the mountain goat, 
And grasps and heaves him struggling from the ground; 
E'en as Alcides when aloft he raised 
The giant son of earth, and in mid air 
Crushed out his shrieking soul. The bursting mail 
From Anrud drops- — drops from his nerveless hand 
The passive sword, and through his naked breast 
Has Mortagh's falchion sluiced the tide of life. 
Proud Anrud falls,— and with him falls the hope 



34 CLONTARF. 

Of Lochlin's armies. Now let Erin's sword, 

Keen as the scythe of death, among the Danes 

Reap glorious harvest. Fight, ye stars of heaven, 

Fight in your course for Erin ! Shoot dismay 

Through Lochlin's bosom. Clan-na-Mome, on ! 

Oh, sons of Fion ! Lochlin's eyes grow dim 

Beneath your smiting brands ; — she reels — she flees — 

Now, on their broken rear ! — th' enchanted bird 

Stoops to the dust — and never more his wing. 

With blood denied, shall float upon the wind. 

Now blest are those whose adamantine frames, 

Like Balder's are impassive to the sword ; 

Or who, like Lodbrog, own a wond'rous stole, 

Through which no steel can bite ; or who can sing 

Great Odin's Runic song, of power to turn 

The sabre's falling edge. — But Erin's arm 

Bursts each charmed spell, nor dreads she aught the curse 

Of Lok or Hela. Lochlin's seers may see, 

In doleful trance, the choosers of the slain, 

Dread sisterhood ! their coal-black chargers spur 

O'er shields and corses, trampling deep in gore, 

The pride of Scandia. Drip their goary manes, 

Their matted fetlocks smoke — their iron jaws 

Champ the red foam, and from their nostrils steam 

The mists of slaughter. Each dire sister scowls 

With tresses twisted like the viper's brood 

O'er her grim visage, while she whirls around 

Her ruthless falchion reeking to the hilt, 

And ranks on ranks, insatiate, sheers to earth. 

The fateful loom, whose warp and woof are formed 



CLONTARF. S$ 

Of human entrails, weary with its toil, 

Has wove the tissue of defeat and death 

To Lochlin' s thousands. Shrieks of sad dismay 

Reach e'en Valhalla, and indignant Thor, 

Foiled by the arm of Erin, turns his car 

To flight inglorious. — Mona mourns aloud 

Her warriors slain, and Ila rues the hour 

She sent her sons to Erin. On the rocks 

Expectant long shall wives and mothers sit 

To hail their husbands and their sons return, 

Enriched with glittering spoil. — All pale they lie, 

Low on the purple sands. Their shrieking ghosts 

Are clustering in the clouds. Their tartan robes 

Grace Erin's daughters well. — Mourn, Lochlin, mourn ! 

Lost is thy proud array. The feast of wolves 

Is spread upon Clontarf. The raven's beak 

Is reddening in thy gore. The vulture cowers 

Dark o'er thy princes slain. Round Sitric's keel 

Ne'er wave shall whiten more— nor Anrud's sail 

Swell to the laughing breeze. Mourn, Lochlin, mourn ! 

The flames have climbed thy ships. The pirate's dirge 

Howls o'er the floods, and Erin's genius shouts 

from lull to hill the song of victory. 

But ah ! what cloud of grief o'ercasts the joy 
Of Erin's triumph ? With her dearest blood 
Drenched is the field ; — the royal race have fallen ! 
The stream of life from Mortagh's numerous wounds 
Ebbs fast away. Young Tirlogh's eagle eye 
Is quenched in night. Though on his beardless chin 
C 4? 



S<5 CLONTARF. 

Not thrice five summers shone, he dared to brave 

Each peril of the field, 'till Broder's arm. 

Nerved by superior strength, his bright career 

Cut short. — In vain the monarch rushed to save 

The hapless youth. He saw him fall in death,— 

A beauteous flowret from its slender stem 

Lopped by coarse fingers, ere its roseate hues • 

Are half expanded to the eye of day. 

By grief and vengeance urged, he smote the Dane 

To earth more quickly than the feathered reed 

Brings down the soaring hern. But Broder's arm, 

That instant, high his battle-mace had raised, 

And in the last dread energy of death 

It fell tempestuous, as a rock descends 

Down some huge steep, and through the battered mail 

Rived the red gates of life. — Sad Erin weeps 

Her monarch slain — the great, the good, the wise,-— 

Borcimlie— has fallen ! — fallen is the pride 

Of Erin's arms ! — Her sword is cast away, 

Dimmed is her shield, and bowed to earth her crest ! 

The fairest star of chivalry is set ! 

Set the bright sun of Erin ! 

Ah ! too great 
Had been the triumph, and for mortal man 
Too exquisite to bear, if tempered not 
By some embittering cordial to correct 
Th' ebriety of joy. — Yet who but deems 
The monarch's lot thrice happy, thus to fall 
In arms, in glory } when his hand had wrought 






CLONTARF* 37 

His country's freedom, and the robber D^ane 
Uprooted as a weed ? By heroes' tears 
Dewed be his tomb,— by all the people's tongues 
His virtues blazoned ! minstrelsy and song, 
With voice of praise and benediction, greet 
His passing spirit !— Age to age shall sing 
His name and honors ; and with reverent steps 
Shall strangers come to press thy hallowed soil, 
Leuctra of Erin ! 

Musing as I rove 
These shores along, to days yet more remote 
Fond fancy bears me, — to the golden age 
Of Innisfail, when sacred truth diffused 
Bright halos round her — while the world beside 
Was Wrapt in gloom. When all the Muses fled 
Far from their ancient haunts, before the storni 
Of Gothic desolation, here they found 
Secure asylum, and in Erin's bowers 
Forgot their Tempe, and th' inspiring gales 
Of Pindus and Parnassus. Justice ruled 
With equal balance. Loyalty and zeal 
Glowed in each bosom. Peace and concord dwelt 
In hall and bower, and in the richest hues 
Of cultivation, hill and valley smiled. 
'Then might the tender virgin all alone, 
Though clothed in robes costly with gems aiid golf!, 
Wander around the isle, secure of harm 
As seraph heaven-deputed to receive 
The homage of the world. But that fair age^ 
P 



$$ CLONTARR 

E*fcn as a glorious vision, quickly fled. 
Then storms arose, and soon a night of gloom } 
Starless and palpable, hung o'er the land, 
Like darkness upon chaos. With Boroimhe 
Died Erin's glory. By her traitor kings 
Sold was her freedom. By her children's hands, 
Fell parricides — she bled. The Saxcn came, 
And every stream ran red. — But who shall tell 
The wrongs of Erin ? Tis a dreadful tale ; 
Of crimes a tissue saturate with blood; 
Of woes a record steeped in bitter tears. 
Deep in herself she lodged the baleful roots 
Of anarchy and ruin ; barbarous laws 
Of Tanistry and Eric, that ne'er left . 
Possession sure, but gave to murder foul 
Impunity and impulse. What availed 
The arm of valour in the private cause 
Of Ormond, or the haughty Geraldine ? 
The partial triumph was the general bane :— 
Erin still wept and bled. The grinding laws 
Of Coyne and Livery, imposts of the sword, 
Like dragon's teeth, from every furrowed glebe 
Bade warriors start. But in their sworded ranks 
A random pebble kindled deadly rage, 
And urged to mutual slaughter. Sept on sept 
That ne'er felt sentiment of public good, 
Waged, for revenge, exterminating war, 
Till all was lost. For her no Wallace drew 
The independent sword ;-^-no dauntless Tell 
E'er bent the patriot bow of Liberty ; 



CLONTARF. 39 

But plots and massacres their desperate game 
Oft played and lost in Erin. Ill-starred land, — 
Ill-governed — much-abused — by Numerous wrongs, 
The fine, the gaol, the scaffold and the scourge, 
Goaded to arms ; — in many a well-fought field 
Vainly triumphant; — sold, betrayed, and hewn 
To pieces by the sword, — then cast a prey 
To hungry spoilers !— ^-Thus the lordly bull 
Urged by ferocious dogs, upon his horns 
Transfixes some, and some in bloody dust 
Tramples victorious, till he falls subdued 
By his own strength, the helpless mangled prize 
Of new devourers. — Equal law for her 
Held forth no sceptre — But the iron mace 
And bloody truncheon of deputed power 
Misruled and paralyzed her. In the march 
Of mind she moved not — for the curse of Rome 
Sat heavy on her soul. With eyes and ears 
She saw not, heard not — shewed no healthful sign 
Of true vitality, but living lay 
E'en as if dead. — When from his death-like trance 
Europe's proud genius woke, and burst the chains 
Whose subtle links by popish spells were drawn 
Round every limb and joint, so fine, so tight 
As e'en to shackle thought and paralyze 
Each working of the brain ; when by a spark 
Of light ethereal touched, he felt those chains 
Burst and dissolve, tho' ri vetted down deep 
E'en to the roots of hell, and with a shout 
That roused the nations, thundering deep dismay 



40 CLONTARF. 

To Antichrist tottering upon his throne, 

Bade them awake to liberty and joy, 

And dash to earth Rome's ignominious yoke :-— 

Why did not Erin in the triumph share ? 

No Knox for her the gospel thunder hurled, 

To clear away the atmosphere of death 

That brooded o'er her, No Melancthon shed 

The holy gospel dew upon her soul. 

No Luther from her eyes the bandage tore, 

To shew the monstrous idol papal pride 

Had tricked in frippery and tinsel rags, 

For man to worship. Knowledge still to her 

Was fruit forbidden. Dark she lay in thrall 

Of hell-sprung bigotry. While other lands 

Basked in the beams of heaven-descended truth ; 

When e'en Batavia's swamps and the bleak hills 

Of Caledonia, in the golden ray 

Beamed joyful with a germination rich 

Of fair improvement, piety and truth ; 

The sacred isle, the muses' old abode 

Was all a wilderness, a dark morass 

Sterile and bare, — in knowledge, virtue, arts, 

Last of the nations. 

Wherefore such reproach 
Yet branded on her name ; and wherefore roves 
Fell famine howling o'er her plenteous soil? 
Whence comes disease to taint her airs of health? 
Whence the loud cries of unrequited toil, 
And all the wretchedness that man must feel 



CLONTARF. 41 

When placed, like Tantalus, lip-deep in joys 
"Which fly the touch, and to derision turn 
The very thirst they kindle in the soul ? 
Whence is the land a theatre of crime, 
Of cruelty and death — where stalks abroad 
The armed assassin in the face of day, 
To mark his victim ; and when sleep has wrapt 
The hamlet in repose, with wasting fire 
Converts it to a dreadful funeral pile, 
Where all its inmates perish, son and sire, 
Women and children? Whence such deeds of hell 
As horrify the damned? Come, answer it, 
Ye who love Erin, as the leech loves blood, 
Or as th' insatiate vampire loves the heart 
On which he gorges : — Come and answer it, 
Lords of the soil that never felt your tread, 
Nor heard your voice, save in th' echoing yell 
Of your grim satellites let loose for prey. 
Ye Absentees, who give to alien lands 
Your country's rights, the treasures foully wrung 
Prom her heart's agonies, your rack-rents dire, 
And blood-consuming tithes, — come, answer it. 
Ye statesmen too, who see her wrongs unmoved,—^ 
Ye who of Erin nought e'er represent 
But her blind confidence in things like you ; 
Who when your country's weal demands your care 
In frequent senate, when her crying wrongs 
Should fire your frozen blood, and burst the chains 
Of tongue-tied dumbness, why with recreant step 
And craven spirit, skulk ye from the field ? 
D 2 



42 CLONTARF. 

Ye silken slaves of pleasure, wo betide 

The land that trusts you ! Whelming shame pursue 

The selfish thought that meritless would wear 

The palm of merit ! What your claims declare 

To Erin's gratitude ? — No patrons ye 

Of arts or letters. Genius here may droop 

And die and rot, ere ye would stretch a hand 

To save him from despair. No muse proclaims 

Your fostering love ; no pencil's tints grow warm 

Beneath your smiles ; no chisel's magic touch, 

That turns the marble to a god, obeys 

Your friendly guidance. Hence in other lands 

Your country's genius breathes th' inspiring air 

Denied at home, Say, what can e'en the eye 

Of partial friendship, in the works of mind 

Behold at home, save penury and shame? 

Oh ! to my bosom's core it stings me deep 

To heai such sad reproach, yet want the power 

Of refutation.— But, my muse, no more. 

Cease this indignant strain,— -to brighter stars 

Turn thy prophetic gaze— and heaven invoke 

That fair improvement, like the Grient sun, 

3\lay rise upon the land, her high career 

To run rejoicing. May sage History's voice, 

Fraught with the wisdom of a thousand years, 

Teach not in vain, whence springs a nation's good, 

And whence her misery. Let Erin learn 

Not on the past, but on the days to come, 

To found her glory. On her bright has shone 

The star of Brunswick, shedding copious down 



CLONTARF. 43 

Benignant influence. Her heart has warmed 

And gladdened in the ray. Her shore has felt 

The patriot monarch's tread, and heard his voice, 

Breathing the spirit of paternal love, 

Command her factions—peace. Oh ! may that voice 

To harmony and order soon reduce 

Her jarring elements ; controul the pride 

Of arrogant misrule ; to darkest night 

Consign th' oppressor ; — but amid the sphere 

Of power and honor modest worth exalt. 

What land more blest than Erin, did the love 
Of man with God's cooperate to bless ?— 
Lovely her aspect, — graced with all the charms 
Of hill and dale, of forest, lake, and stream,— 
Whate'er delights the poet or the sage. 
Rich are her mineral beds, bituminous, 
Calcareous, metalline, with silvery threads 
Reticulate, or starred with gems and gold. 
Her ports capacious for the proudest fleets 
Of war or commerce. Charged with odours sweet, 
Ker balmy zephyrs. Her no tropic fires, 
No polar tempests ravage. In the wars 
Of nature she is spared as holy ground. 
No noxious reptile breathes her air and lives. 
Green are her bowers, and sweet her woodland song : 
Her fields with flocks and herds and wind-hoofed steeds, 
Her waters crystalline with finny tribes 
Thick-peopled ; — loud the thy my heath resounds 
The bees mellifluous hum. With heroes' bloo4 



44 CLONTARF. 

Fat is her soil, and precious is the meed 

She yields to industry. Beneath the weight 

Of vegetable gold her harvests bend. 

Rich as a garden sacred to the Lord, 

Watered by amber streams, and fanned by airs, 

And fructified with dews of Paradise, — 

What land more blest, did she her bliss but know ?— 

Sweet is her harp and eloquent her tongue ; 

Generous her heart, to everlasting love 

By kindness won, — by steel invincible. 

Her daughters lovely as the nymphs of yore, 

By poets feigned the children of the gods. 

Noble her sons, true scions of the stock 

Of nature's first-born, theirs the heart's pure ore, 

And bullion of the mind, prepared to take 

The stamp of all the majesty of man. 

Ye statesmen, peers, and great ones of the land, 
Think kindly of the worth of Erin's sons, 
With all their claims of nature, country, blood, 
Upon your patriot love. Around them pour 
The light of truth divine ; dissolve the chains 
That cramp their spirit ; new incentives give 
To industry ; inspire the virtuous love 
Of independence, and on home bestow 
Your hearts and minds, your love and energy, 
But ill bestowed on thankless alien lands. 
Bid the fair garden bloom amid the wild ; 
Adorn the barren waste with bower and tree ; 
Explore new paths where commerce thro' the hills 



CLONTARF. 45 

May shape her liquid course ; — the fisher's bark 
Send forth to reap the harvest of the seas ; 
Pierce the deep mine ; the roaring torrent bridge ; 
To ocean's rage the mural bound oppose. 
O'er the drained swamp let cultivation spread 
Her broidered robe, and give to idle hands 
The mattock, trowel, shuttle, spade, or oar, 
The instruments whence springs a nation's wealth. 
Her peace, her grandeur, and her true renown. 
Then from the willow tree, where long it poured 
Its spirit to the winds, shall Erin snatch 
Her golden harp, and all its chords retime 
To dulcet sounds of jubilee and praise, 
Reverberating loud round all her shores, 
Waking symphonious music in the heart, 
Pouring such strains as virtue joys to hear, 
Wisdom applaud, and innocence rechant. 
Her benefactor's praise from every string 
Shall then re-echo, till with Grattan's name, 
Or, Wellesley, thine, it reach the vault of heaven, 
And what to this are all the joys of wealth, 
Of luxury and pride? they fade — they die;— •» 
But love to man has an immortal root, 
And bears celestial fruitage in the skies. 



NOTES. 



NOTES TO EOOK FIRST. 



NOTE 1— p; 7. 

— Roves tti excursive glance 
From, Dalkey islet, 

" The island of Dalkey forms the south-eastern ex- 
tremity of the Bay of Dublin, which from hence to the 
south-eastern point of Howth is six miles broad.— It con- 
tains about eighteen acres of good marsh land for cattle. 
The island was formerly dedicated to St. Benedict, and 
there are still to be seen on it the ruins of a church, and 
kistvaens, or receptacles of human bones are found near 
the shore. Tradition says, the citizens of Dublin retired 
here when the city was visited by the great plague in 
1575. In modern times they resorted to it for convivial 
purposes. It was the custom to elect here a mock-king 
and officers of state, whose proceedings were recorded in a 
newspaper called the Dalkey Gazette. A society called 
the Druids, established about 1790, also held their anni- 
versary meetings on this island. To the east are a num- 
ber of small rocks called the Muglins, in whose cavities 
are found abundance of fish. Dalkey island is separated 
from the main by a channel called the Sound, 3650 feet 
long, 1000 feet wide, at its S. E. and 700 feet wide at its 
N. W. extremity, with a sunken rock near its centre, and 
a rocky shore on each side. This place had been surveyed 
among others, as affording a proper site for an asylum 
harbour, and a plan was proposed by the Committee of 
Inland Navigation, but from the objections to which it 
was liable, it was abandoned. It was considered, how- 
ever, in former times, a very safe and convenient harbour? 

r\ Q 



50 NOTES 

where vessels lay secure in ten fathoms water, protected 
from the N. E. wind, and ready to sail at any hour. 
Hence the port of Dalkey was that used on state occa. 
sions. In 1538 Sir Edward Belhngham landed here and 
proceeded to Dublin. In 1553 Sir Anthony St. Leger 
also landed here, and in 1558 the Earl of Sussex shipped 
his army from this port, and proceeded to oppose the Scotch 
invaders at the island of Raghery on the coast of An> 
Uim."— fPo&ft's History of Dublin. 

NOTE 2— p. 7. 

■ Marino's groves, 
Loved of each Muse. 

" This beautiful demesne was once the resort of the 
citizens of Dublin, to whom its liberal proprietor freely 
threw it open. It had then a number of attractions ; it 
was the favourite of Lord Charlemont, who exhausted his 
large fund of classic taste in embellishing it. The Cassino 
stands naked and simple in the middle of an open lawn, 
forming the most striking and beautiful model of the 
chastest style of Doric architecture to be found in Ireland. 
Contrasted with this is Rosamond's bower, erected at die 
upper extremity of a lake, in a dark sequestered retreat, 
embosomed in trees. Its stained glass, fretted mouldings, 
and pointed ornaments, giving as pure a model of a Go- 
thic, as the other of a Grecian temple." 

" The motive for erecting this edifice was as amiable as 
the building is beautiful. When Lord Charlemont came 
to Ireland in 1773, he built Marino, not merely from a 
love of architecture, but from a sense of duty as a citizen, 
who was bound to cultivate the interests of the country 
that gave him birth. " I was sensible," said this excellent 
man, " that it was my indispensable duty to live in Ire- 
land, and I determined by some means or other to attach 
myself to my native land, and principally with this view I 
began those improvements at Marino, as without some 
attractive employment I doubted whether I should have 
resolution to become a resident*"— Hardy'* Lift, roll. j>. 



NOTES. 51 

325. For this purpose he invited to Ireland Simon Ver* 
poyle, to make models and ornaments for his new build- 
ing, and in this way contributed to encourage that taste 
for architecture which distinguishes Dublin. Verpoyle 
was the master of Smith. He was also assisted by Sir 
William Chambers." — Walsh's History of Dublin. 

NOTE 3— p. 7. 

The isle of holy Nessan* 

Hirlandsie, vulgarly called " Ireland's eye, stands 
about one mile from the North side of the hill of Howth, 
and is about one mile in circumference. There are still 
to be seen on it the ruins of a church, appertaining to an 
abbey founded here by St. Nessan, in the year 570, in 
which the saint passed his life in fasting and prayer. 
Here he was assailed by an evil spirit, who to terrify him 
the more, assumed a frightful gigantic form. The saint 
by good luck was reading the holy book called " the gar- 
land of Howth," which rendered him invincible by any 
thing unearthly and unholy. As his enemy approached,, 
lie struck him on the forehead with the book, and drove 
him with such force against the opposite coast, that he 
split the rock, and impaled the evil spirit in the fissure, 
where he remains to this hour struggling to extricate him- 
self. In the course of centuries he has nearly disengaged 
his body and arms, but one leg still remains firmly wedged 
in the rock. This imaginary figure is frequently viewed 
from boats, but few have courage to venture into the 
chasm of the rock within. It was, however, a noted 
haunt of smugglers. " — Walsh's History of Dublin* 

NOTE 4— p. 7. 

The eagle's ancient haunt, Ben-eider s height* 

" Howth is called in Irish M.S. S. Ben-eider, or the Cliff 
of the Eagle. Its circuit includes an area of 1500 square 
acres, Irish measure. It is noted as an extraordinary 
circumstance, that it has continued for 600 years in the 



52 NOTES. 

family of Lord Howth, without increase or diminution, 
we might also add, without improvement or alteration. 
The greater part of the hill seems to be in the state in 
v hich it emerged from the ilood. The line iimestone with 
which it abounds is exported to fertilize distant fields ; 
and travellers view with surprise this bold and beautiful 
promontory, within a few miles of the metropolis, with 
scarcely a single habitation to mark its surface, while the 
opposite coast at a greater distance is covered with villas 
to the summit of the mountains." 

" The south extremity of Howth consists of a small 
promontory, nearly insulated, called the Green Bajlle, 
which in Irish signified a town or enclosed habitation. 
Here, it is said, a remnant of the Danish army retired 
after the battle of Clontarf, insulated the promontory, and 
defended themselves till they were carried off in their 
vessels. It is certain that the excavation had all the ap- 
pearance of an artificial fosse, before the ancient marks 
were obliterated by the road, and the works of the present 
light house constructed upon it." — Walsh. 

From some points of view, the outline of Howth pre- 
sents to the eye of the fanciful observer, that of a gigantic 
figure, lying supine, with the head towards the north. It 
is by no means, however, so striking as the gigantic profile 
of the Cave-hill near Belfast, thus described in Read's 
admired poem " The Hill of Caves :"— 

" Dull were that vision, to the Arctic thrown, 
From Lagan's southern bank, which did not trace. 
By nature sculptured in the living stone, 
The sleeping semblance of a giant face ; 
Touched with a godlike, seeming conscious grace, 
Crowning the summit's Alpine majesty : 
In dreams of fancy, gazing on that place, 
jMethought the Mountain Genius thus might lie, 
Struck to an arid rock beneath th' offended sky." 

In such formations nature outstrips the imaginations 
of man. Dinocrates proposed to cut Mount Atlas into a 



NOTES. 53 

statue of Alexander the Great. Pope thought such a 
project not impracticable, and said that "if any body 
would make him a present of a Welsh mountain, and pay 
the workmen, he would undertake to see it executed." 
" There are still persons who dream of such extravagant 
and fruitless undertakings. Some modern Dinocrates 
had suggested to Buonaparte to have cut from the moun- 
tain, the Simplon, an immense colossal figure, as a sort of 
genius of the Alps. This was to have been of such an 
enormous size, that all passengers should haze passed be- 
tween its legs in a zig-zag direction."— Mrs* BattHe's tour 
on the Continent. 

JtfOTE 5— -p. 13. 

— — — Sea mouse fulgent in his mail 
Of bristly gold. 

Aphrodita aculeata. This animal is about four inches 
and a half in length. The hair at the sides is of beautiful 
green and orange colours, and mixed with sharp black 
prickles. See the 2nd volume of the Anthologia Hiber- 
nica, for a description and engraving of this animal. 

It has been found by the author on the North Bull, 



D 4 



NOTES TO BOOK SECOND. 



NOTE 1— p. 24. 

Where Erins sabre foiled the martial pride 
Of Lochlin. 

The following passage from CK Connor's " Rerum 
Hiberni^arum sciiptores veteres," is worthy the attention 
of those (if such are still to be found) who give credence 
to the authenticity of Macpherson's Centos. 

" Nomen Lochlan, quod in iisdem Carminibus (Oissino 
a recentioribus Scotis adscriptis) fictis centies pro Danis 
pon'itur, penitus ignotnm fuit, & inauditum ante sseculum 
Xmiiffl, quo tempore Danis ab Hiberniae incolis imposi-p 
turn fuit, quia in lacubus Eachense, Ribhense, Feabha- 
lense, Orbienense, &c. hiemare solebant, ut eo, commodius 
mediterraneas Insulse regiones & Monasteria infestarent. 
Hae itaque voces, & alias plures, a veterum auribus ab- 
horrentes, itemque versuum & Rythmorum veterum me- 
thodus antiqua, ab his fictis carminibus prorsus absona & 
aliena, Carmina ista non modo saeculo nono recentiora, 
sed a saeculo conficta, sive interpolata esse et penitus eli- 
minanda contestantur. Pro Canone enim irrefragabile sta- 
tuendum esse, nullum esse, non modo Codicem, verum 
etiam Carmen, aut opus quodcimque, in quo vox Lochlan 
pro Dano vel Norwego ponitur, quod non sit saeculo 
xmo recentior, cum antea nuilo alio vocabulo quam Gal, 
ullo unquam tempore, Hibernici designati fuerint. "•!— 
Rerum Hib. Ep. p. cxxii. 

When Macpherson was shewn a manuscript about 400 
years old in the Bodleian library, he declared that he 
could neither interpret nor read a v> ord of it, on account 
of its numerous contractions. 



NOTES. 55 

The curious reader may find much more to the same 
purpose in the above cited author, clearly demonstrating 
the imposition of the modern Ossian. O'Reilly in his 
chronological account of Irish writers observes, " that if 
the genuine poems of Oisin were extant, their language 
would be unintelligible to the generality of Irish readers, 
and completely so to the vulgar. The language of those 
poems which the Highland Society has given to the world 
as the originals of Oisin, is the living language of the 
Highlanders of the present day, and if properly spelled 
and read by an Irish scholar, would be intelligible to the 
most illiterate peasant in Ireland*" 

NOTE 2— p. 25. 
Sigurd the lawless rover of the deep* 

" Sigurd, one of the most daring and successful of the 
Earls of Orkney, allured by great promises, and flushed 
with the hopes of augmenting his fame, entered into 
an alliance against Brian, king of Dublin. * * * 
After he had displayed his wonted bravery in the support 
of his ally, he fell in the famous battle of Clontarf, to 
the unspeakable loss of his friends, and much lamented 
by his countrymen." 

- His death, according to the credulity of the age, was 
attended with prodigies. He had promised to his friend 
Harcus, that he would give him the earliest intelligence 
of the success of his Irish expedition. " Much about the 
time of the battle, this man, with several other , saw 
plainly, as he imagined* the Earl at no great distance 
riding towards him, at the head of a troop of horse ; 
upon which, Harcus mounted his own horse on purpose 
to meet him ; they were seen to approach each other, to 
meet, to embrace, and, afterwards, riding up to a rising 
ground, they disappeared ; and no vestige of either of 
thvm was ever seen afterwards." 

That in Caithness was still more remarkable. " About 
the same time, a native there, of the name of Darradus, 
imagined that he saw a number of men riding up to, ai.d 
E 



55 NOTES 

entering a hill near his dwelling ; and that he might be 
in no mistake, he went to the place, and perceiving a 
chink in the side of the hill, he looked through it, and saw 
twelve women weaving a web in a very strange loom, and 
of as strange materials ; and as they wrought, they sung, 
in the Danish language, a dreadful song — * How hapless 
has been the fate of the Earl of Orkney.' "«— Barry's His- 
tory of the Orkney Islands, pp. 136, 137. 

This "dreadful song" may be seen in the original 
Norse, with a Latin translation in the volume from which 
this passage is extracted ; and also in Johnstone's Antiqui- 
tates Celto-Scandicae. It is taken from the Orcades of 
Thormodus Torfaeus, and is nobly translated into Eng- 
lish by Gray. 

NOTE 3— p 32. 

Can Tara undulate ? Does treason own 
False-liearted Malachy /*— 

The defection of Malachy, king of Tara, at this critical 
juncture, was in conformity to a preconcerted plan. 
Brian had sent off a detachment of his forces to annoy 
the Lagenians who were friendly to the Danes ; Malachy 
apprized the enemy of the circumstance, urged the ex- 
pediency of an immediate attack, and as a farmer encou- 
ragement, promised to join the Danish standard— a pro* 
mise which he too faithfully kept, 

NOTE 4— p. 34. 

— The choosers of the slain, 
Dread sisterhood / 

61 The Valkyriae, female divinities, servants of Odin, in 
the Gothic mythology. 

" Habent Valkyris 
Caedis potestatem. 

11 In the throng of battle they selected such as were 
destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valhalla, 



NOTES. 57 

the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave, where they 
attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with 
horns of mead and ale." 

NOTE 5— p. §4, 35. 
The fateful loom, whose warp and woof are formed 
Of human entrails. 

Texitur haec tela 
Intestinis humanis. 

Ode from Torfieus 
NOTE 6— p. 35. 
— With her dearest blood 
Drenched is the field, 

'•' The annals of Innisfallen make the number of the 
Danes and Lagenians who fell amount to 13,800, that 
is to say, 4,000 of the Danes of Dublin and Ireland, 
6,700 of the auxiliary Danes, and 3,100 of the forces of 
Leinster. The Chronicon Scotorum, which gives but a 
short account of this battle, still gives us a very good idea 
of the obstinacy with which it was fought, by saying, that 
" the like battle or any equal to it, had not been fought in 
Ireland for many ages." But the account that chronicle 
gives of the number of Danes slain in this battle, falls 
short of the above computation, as it positively mentions 
that there were in all but 4,000 Danes : among them 
were 1,000 brass coated combatants. It is quite silent 
concerning the loss of the Lagenians. According to the 
Innisfallen annals there were 4,000 of Brian's forces 
killed during the engagement, and many wounded ; but 
the Chronicon Scotorum gives no farther account of it r 
than that the loss of Brian was considerable." — Collectanea, 

NOTE 7— p. 37. 

He smote the Dane 

To earth. 

According to the account given of the battle in John- 
stone's " Antiquitates Celto-Scandicse," Broder^ after 



53 NOTES. 






displaying signal bravery, met with a more severe and 
less honourable fate. Being taken prisoner, he was 
bound to a tree, and eviscerated. 

Broder agmen hostium perrumpit, quotquot primi ste- 
terunt, omnes dejicit, at nihil ipsi nocebat ; ne ferrum qui- 
dem. Gradum in eum conferens Ulfus Hrasda, ternis 
hominem ictibus tanta \iolentia ferit, uti toties corrueret, 
ac propius nihil factum quam utin pedes eniti nequiverit : 
sed simul atque erigi contigit, fuga se abripuit in silvam. 

Interea Broder milites Brianis Regis fugientibus in- 
stantes conspicatus, paucis hominibus ad praesidium 
regium remanentibus, se silva erupit ; ac toto praesidio 
disturbato, regem gladio impetivit : puero Tacto manus, 
quam sub ictuin exporrexerat, regique caput amputantur, 
Scinguis antem regius adspergebatur trunco pueri membro, 
eique statim obducta cicatrix est. Turn Broder sic ex- 
clamare ; referet homo homini Brianem a Brodere dejec~ 
turn. Mox ad eos qui in tergis fugientium hasrebant, 
decurritur, usque occasus regis nunciatur, reversi cppido 
Ulfus Hraeda & Kerthialfadus Broderem ac suos corona 
circumdant ingesta in eos undique materia, sic Broder 
vivus capitur, rescindit homini ventrem Ulfus Hraeda, turn 
arbori circumducit eum, itaque cmnia intestina corpori 
extrahit ; nee ille prius exspirabat, quarn penitus fuit 
#visceratus : milites Broderis ad unum contrucidantur. 

NOTE 8— p. S7. 

Minstrelsy and song. <|;c. 

Brian, it may well be supposed, did not fall unwept or 
unsung. 

" Long his loss shall Erin weep, 
Ne'er again his likeness see ; 
Long her strains in sorrow steep, 
Strains of immortality. " 

Grays Ode from Torfceus. 

There is still extant an elegiac poem on the death of 
Czan, Brian, and his son JVIorogh, by Mac Gioila 



NOTES. 59 

Gaoimh, a poet who flourished in the time of Brian 
Boroimhe, and who lived some time after the battle of 
Clonfarf. His fate was also lamented by Mac Liag, his 
secretary, who wrote his life, and eulogized his memory, 
One of his elegies contains forty-four verses, and is spo- 
ken of by O'Reilly, as being beautiful and pathetic. 
See his Chronological account of Irish writers, page lxxi. 
It is much to be wished that one so deeply versed in 
Irish literature as Mr. O'Reilly, would oblige the world 
with a translation of some of the valuable Irish poems in 
his collection. 

Brian is thus mentioned in an Irish poem, " Gildae 
Modudii Ardbracanensis," translated by Dr. O'Connor 
in his " Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores Veteres." 

Corvus maris, unda velox, 

Brianus judex supra Hiberniam famse variae, 

Sine mcestitia, sine luctu, sine macula, 

Duobus annis (et) decern in debita prosperitate ; 

Usque ad prselium Dubliniense facinorum, 

Quo expulsit Heroas Danorum ; 

Haud multum (abfuit) quin vincerent alienigense, 

Occiderunt Brianum Boroineum. 

NOTE 9— -p. 37. 
Then might the tender virgin all alone, <Jr. 
This is recorded as a fact by some Irish historians. 
Our exquisite Lyric poet Moore, in whom the genius of 
Irish minstrelsy has revived in all the spirit of the " olden 
time,' 1 and with all the additional graces of classical learn- 
ing and taste, has made it the subject of one of his justly 
admired songs. 

" Rich and rare were the gems she wore," &c. 

NOTE 10— p. 38. 

Wlio shall tell 

TJie wrongs of Erin ? ' Tis a dreadful tale ! 
The two following passages from Tacitus and Livy, co 
tain an epitome of Irish history :— 

E 2 



60 NOTES, 

" Sseva jussa, contimias accusationes, fallaces amicitian, 
perniciem irmocentium. " — Annul, lib. iv. 

" Et ne tot annorum clades utriusque gentis laboresque 
actos nunc referara, quibus nenuiverint tamen dura ilia 
pectora vinci * * * nee suis, nee extemis viribus 
jam stare poterant; tamen bello non abstinebant; adeo 
ne infdiciter quidem defenses libertatis Lcedehat j <|- vinci, quani 
non tentare victoriam, malebant. Qui nam sit ille, quern 
non pigeat longinquitates bellorum scribendo legendoque, 
cjuse gerentes non fatigaverunt?"-^— Livy, lib, x. chap. 31, 

NOTE 11— p. 38. 

' ' •' Barbarous Lairs 
Of T artistry and Eric. 

l< It we consider the nature of the Irish customs, we 
shall find that the people which doth use them, must of 
necessity be rebels to all good government, destroy the 
commonwealth wherein they live, and bring barbarism 
and desolation upon the richest and most fruitful land of 
the world. For, whereas by the just and honourable law 
of England, and by the laws of all other well governed 
kingdoms and commonwealths, murder, manslaughter, 
rape, robbery, and theft, are punished with death ; by the 
Irish custom or Brehon law, the highest of these offences 
was punished only by fine, which they called an eric. 
Therefore, when Sir William Fitzwilliams (being Lord 
Deputy) told Maguyre that he was to send a sheriff into 
Fermanagh, being lately before made a county ; " Your 
sheriff (said Maguyre) shall be welcome to me, but let me 
know his eric (or the price of his head) aforehand, that if 
my people cut it off, I may cut the eric upon the country.'* 
As for oppression, extortion, and other trespasses, the 
weaker had never any remedy against the stronger ; 
whereby it came to pass that no man could enjoy his life, 
his wife, his lands, or goods in safety, if a mightier man 
than himself had an appetite to take the same from him. 
Wherein they were lit ;ie better than cannibals, who d9 



NOTES. 61 

hunt one another, and he that hath most strength and 
swiftness doth eat and devour a]l his fellows." 

" Again, in England, and all well ordered common- 
wealths, men have certain estates in their lands and pos- 
sessions, and their inheritances descend from father to 
son, which doth give them encouragement to build and 
to plant, and to improve their lands, and to make them 
better for their posterities ; but by the Irish custom of 
Tanistry, the chieftains of every country, and the chief of 
every Sept, had no longer estate than for life as their 
chiefries, the inheritance whereof did rest in no man. 
And these chiefries, though they had some portions of 
land allotted unto them, did consist chiefly in cuttings 
and cosheries, and other Irish exaetions, whereby they 
did spoil and impoverish the people at their pleasure. 
And when these chieftains were dead, their sons or next 
heirs did not succeed them, but their Tanistres, who were 
elective, and purchased their elections by strong hand ; 
and by the Irish custom of Gavelkind, the inferior tenan- 
ties were partable amongst all the males of the Sept, both 
bastards and legitimates : and after partition made, if any 
one of the Sept had died,his portion was not divided among 
his sons, but the chief of the Sept made a new partition of 
all the lands belonging to that Sept, and gave every one 
his part according to his antiquity." 

" These two Irish customs made all their possessions 
uncertain, being shuffled and changed, and removed so 
often from one to another, by new elections and parti- 
tions ; which uncertainty of estates hath been the true 
cause of such desolation and barbarism in this land, as the 
like was never seen in any country that professed the 
name of Christ."' — Sir John Buvies's Discovery of the true 
cause why Ireland ivas never brought under obedience of the 
crown of England. 

NOTE 12— p. 38. 
Coyne and Livery, 

i. e. free quarters. " In the time of king Edward II. 
Maurice Fitz Thomas of Desmond being chief com* 



62 NOTES. 

mander of the army against the Scots, began that wicked 
extortion of Coyne and Livery and pay, that is, he and his 
army tooke horsemeate and mansmeate and money at 
their pleasure, without any ticket, or any other satisfaction. 
And this was after that time, the general fault of all the 
governors and commanders of the army in this land." — 
" By this it appeareth, why the extortion of Coyne 
and Livery is called in the old statutes of Ireland a 
damnable custome, and the imposing and taking thereof, 
high treason. And it is said in an ancient discourse Of 
the decay of Ireland, that though it were first invented in 
hell, yet if it had been used and practised there, as it hath 
been in Ireland, it had long since destroyed the very king- 
dom of Beelzebub." 

u This extortion was originally Irish, for they used to 
lay Bonaght upon their people, and never gave their soldier 
any other pay. But when the English had learned it, 
they used it with more insolence, and made it more intole- 
rable ; for this oppression was not temporary, or limited 
either to place or time ; but because there was every where 
a continual war, either offensive or defensive, and every 
lord of a country, and every marcher, made war and peace 
at his pleasure, it became universal and perpetual, and 
was indeed the most heavy oppression that ever was used 
in any Christian or heathen kingdom : and therefore, vox 
oppressorum, this crying sin did draw down as great or 
greater plagues upon Ireland, than the oppression of the 
Israelites did draw upon the land of Egypt. For the 
plagues of Egypt, though they were grievous, were but of 
a short continuance ; but the plagues of Ireland lasted 
four hundred years together. This extortion of Coyne 
and Livery produced two notorious effects :— first, it 
made the land waste ; next, it made the people idle : for 
when the husbandman had laboured all the year, the 
soldier in one night consumed the fruits of all his labour, 
longique pent labor hiritus anni. Had he reason then to 
manure the land for the next year ? or rather, might he not 
complain as the shepherd in Virgil ?-- 



NOTES. 63 

Impius h<ec tarn culta novalia miles habebit ? 
JBarbarus has segetes ? En quo discordia ewes 
Perduxit miseros ?~En quels cunsevimus agros ? 

NOTE IS— p. 40. 

The bleak hills 

Of Caledonia. <|-c. 

" The effects of the Reformation, the collision of con- 
tending intellects, and the mental strength and vigour 
produced by the religious discussions which at this period 
engrossed the attention of the nation — the sources of in- 
formation and improvement derived from the intercourse 
of our ablest reformers with the continent — and above all, 
the admission of the lower classes, whose ignorance under 
the Roman Catholic church was equally profound and 
hopeless, to a participation in this increasing intelligence 
and freedom which accompanied the doctrines of the 
Reformation ; all these causes co-operated to render 
the sixteenth century a period of no less eminence in the 
history of Scotland, than in that of Italy. The single 
names of Knox, Buchanan, and Napier, are sufficient to 
prove the truth of these observations, and were it neces- 
sary, many others, though not of equal eminence, might 
be added to this triumvirate of talent." — Tytlers Life of 
Crichton,p* 179. 

Far different was the state of unhappy Ireland. " When 
Europe had declared almost unanimously against the yoke 
of ecclesiastical power, a slight attempt made in one pro- 
vince of Ireland to circumscribe the privileges of the 
clergy, raised a most violent and insolent clamour among 
the order ; although it amounted to nothing more than 
empowering the civil magistrate to imprison ecclesiastical 
debtors." 

" Prelates of the more eminent dioceses slept in mo- 
nastic tranquillity, while all Europe resounded with the 
tumult of theological dispute. It is ridiculous to find an 
Irish bishop renowned for the composition of an hymn in 
Laibarous Latin rhymes, in praise of a saint Macartin, 



64 NOTES. 

while his brethren in other countries were engaged in 
discussion of the most important points of religion ; or 
others depending for salvation, on being wrapt, at their 
dying hour, in the cowl of saint Francis, when Rome 
herself had confessed with shame, the follies and enor- 
mities which had disgraced her communion." — Leland's 
Ireland, Hen. viii. 

" As to the inferior orders of men, no measures appear 
to have been taken, from the first beginnings of the refor- 
mation, to enlighten their ignorance or correct their pre- 
judices. '■ Hard it is," saith a Chancellor of Ireland in 
this reign, " that men should know their duties to God, 
and to the king, when they shall net hear teaching or 
preaching throughout the year." And at a time when 
the mechanic in England could hear and convey instruc- 
tion, and was habituated to religious inquiry, the same 
minister complains that in Ireland " preaching we have 
none, which is our lack, without which the ignorant can 
have no knowledge." " 



END OE THE NOTES. 



POETICAL SKETCHES. 



POETICAL SKETCHES. 



t0WE Lf ^-K'^STOWN HARBOL-R-THE DmN . c 
MLL-THE DEPAM CR E OF KtNG 6E0 R GE IV. 

VVhat may not Art atcbieve ? _ H er mighty hand 
] 0k T t0 h « ci -"'ot the tamed elements, 
And swift she soars among the stars of heaven, 
Or sweeps the howling wilderness of waves. 
*rom the eloud-borne artillery of the skies 
She nngs the re d bolt, harmless. Monntains how 
Itar hoary heads, and deep sunk vallies rise 
In homage to her power. 'Midst f,e and storm 
And fierce combusUon, through the rock-ritb.d earth 
She nnnes her passage ; _f rom his ^ £^** 

LmeS ° Cea " cha *H -d builds amid the fj£ 

What plans he „ 0W) where rol]s ^ Meak 
On Kmgstown's, erst Dunlea^s, rocky slm ^ 
E 3 



S8 POETICAL SKETCHES. 

The sounding surf? — The neighbouring hills she rends 

With mattock, wimble, sledge, and nitrous dust 

Exploding oft and loud, — strong enginry, 

More potent than a giant's hundred hands, 

Or that of Svracusan sage renowned, 

Which on the deep the warlike galley trussed, 

As kite the dove, — hung dangling in the air, 

Then ruthless dashed loud-crashing on the beach ; 

As eagle from the clouds on pointed crags 

Bolts the mailed tortoise. — Ponderous waggons drive 

Down the long rail- way, and their frequent loads 

Hurl thundering in the deeps. — The deeps recoil, 

And see indignant o'er their bosom rise 

A mole, deep-seated, — solid as the dyke 

Of iron frame that closely girds and binds 

The strata of the world. Its wide-spread arms 

Circle a bay w T here fleets may safely ride. 

Soon by its broad foundations shall be heard 

The builder's sledge, as in th' iEolian cave 

Deep he descends, and lays the chiseled stone 

For use and ornament. Not more secure 

Sits favoured lover in his jessamine bower, 

Than sits the diver in his airy hall 

With ocean round him. Calmly he respires 

Fresh streams of air, by art pneumatic driven 

Through flexile conduits, while the noxious streams 

Escape beneath, with ebullition high, 

As from a boiling cauldron. He pursues 

His task at ease, nor dreads th' untimely fate 

Of hapless Spalding, On the ocean bed, 






POETICAL SKETCHES. 69 

As on dry ground, he treads. So, safely trod 

The host of Israel, when the Red-sea waves 

Obedient to the prophet's powerful rod, 

On either side rose crystalline, and left 

The midway passage bare. He there explores 

The mysteries of Nature, though involved 

In deepest night ; — beholds the dismal caves 

Of Scylla and her sea-dogs, — or the fanes 

Of Neptune, bearing high their coral roofs, 

Floored with rich pearl, and clear with emerald sheen ; 

Or views the finny shoals in burnished mail, 

Bedropped with geld, and rich with crimson dyes, 

Or silvery, oaring smooth their liquid way* 

I ? rom the abyss he buoys the foundered ship ; 

Or lodges in the bark-destroying reef 

The earthquake's elements, and from its roots, 

With fierce explosion, Shipwreck's battery rends. 

All-conquering Art ! in works like this, so grand, 

So durable, benevolent, and wise, 

Thou shew'st a people's greatness. When thou wield' st 

The arms of Nature thus, she hails thee friend, 

Handmaid, and sister— and approves thy toils. 

Oh ! 'twas a thrilling sight, when Erin saw 
Her monarch on these shores, the first of kings 
That e'er with helmless brow and sandaled foot 
Trod them in peace. Ker heart of heart was touched, 
And every pulse beat high. From all her gates 
She poured her eager population forth, 
In homage to her king. Her knights and squires, 



70 POETICAL SKETCHES. 






Statesmen and counsellors, lords and ladies bright, 

With all their glittering equipage came forth. 

The bed-rid patient on his couch was borne ; 

And one who long had fed en grief was there. 

Thronged was each roof and tower. The sloping rocks 

Far round, a mighty theatre, were filled 

With thousands and ten thousands of her sons 

And daughters, wanned with loyalty and zeal. 

O'er the crisped waters glancing in the sun, 

Skimmed the light barges with their gilded oars, 

While stately and majestic as a queen, 

The royal yacht in all her bravery rode ; 

And many a gallant ship that bore long tiers 

Of sleeping thunder, sat in towery strength, 

With yards well-manned, and all her pennants gav, 

Like the red streamers in the boreal sky, 

Loose-noating to the wind. Impatient long 

To see and greet their king th' assemblage sat, 

Till down the western sky the car of day 

Sped rapid,— Then came rolling on the breeze 

The gathering acclamation long and loud 

That told his coming. At the signal fire 

Each war-ship bade her bold artillery speak 

In well-timed cadence, such as honors most 

The hare and the king. 'Twas grand to see 

The frequent Hash like lightning from the clouds, 

And each proud vessel wrapt in sudden night, 

Like some indignant spirit of the deep 

Come forth in smoke and fire. 'Tvras grand to hear 

The hollow-echoing, deep-resounding roar 



POETICAL SKETCHES. 71 

Reverberated loud from ship to ship, 

From cliff to cliff, from battery, pier, and tower. 

Such is the grandeur of the battle storm, 

When fleets dispute the empire of the deep. 

That day a spirit ruled the people's hearts, 

With such contagious sympathy as ne'er 

'Till then had touched them. One pervading soul 

Gave motion to the many-headed throng, 

And loyalty, and love, and gratitude, 

Throbbed in each breast, and dwelt on every tongue. • 

Their king, their friend, their father, loud they hailed, 

As their benignant genius that at last 

Had come to heal, to succour, and to bless. 

Grim Discord stood aloof, and in despair 

Dropped her reverted torch. — What time the barge 

Left the thronged wharf, majestic in the stern 

The monarch stood, and with the matchless grace 

Befitting royalty, bowed kind adieu 

To all around. Then rose the farewell cheer, 

An universal shout from land and sea; 

The very rocks seemed animate that hour ; 

And 'kerchiefs waved, and beavers shook their plumes, 

In friendly salutation. Through the waves 

Some fearless plunged, and in the barge's wake 

Adventurous swam, to see their king more nigh. 

In beauty's eye-lid hung the tremulous tear ; 

And little children in their nurses' arms 

Were seen from very sympathy to clap 

Their tiny hands, as glorying in the scene. 

E 4? 



THE STEAM BOAT. 



— — rotis summas levibus perlabitur undas* 

VlRG. 

Yox sail-less bark that sterns the adverse tide, 

Nor asks the aid of oar or canvas wing. 

May tell what homage man should pay to Art.— 

Steady her course ;• — with rapid keel she cleaves 

The flood- — as if the hands invisible 

Of Deris and the sea-nymphs urged her course. 

Sparkles the foam before her, — and behind 

She leaves an eddying wake. Though roaring winds 

And wild careering torrents lashed her bows, 

Yet would she move right on, as if with life, 

Instinct, and voluntary speed endued. 

Nor wants she powers, by nought on earth surpassed, 

Save by those vital energies alone 

Which God inspires. A soul of fire and steam 

Breathes in her sides, and to her sea-girt wheels 

Gives quick rotation, with impulsive might 

Bolting her on, smooth-gliding, like the car 



POETICAL SKETCHES. 75 

Of trident-bearing God. — She hangs aloft 

A smoky streamer, to th' horizon's verge 

Floating redundant, seen far off at sea 

By wondering sailors. — Ignorant what Art 

Is able to atchieve, they fondly deem 

Such sail-less, oar-less, wind-opposing bark 

The Demon's pleasure boat, and God invoke 

To save and guide them.* Loud the voice of glee, 

Of song and minstrelsy resounds within ; 

Nor fear of adverse winds, or tedious course, 

Barred by rough controversy with the waves, 

O'ercasts her joy ; — but forward still she moves* 

So moves along some huge Leviathan 

Of strength enormous. Round his jetty sides 

The hoary surges boil. The finny tribes 

Trembling recede to let their monarch pass ; 

While mingled fear and admiration seize 

The seaman's heart, as near his vessel drives 

The king of ocean tempesting the surge* 



* Steam boats are now too familiar to the sight of sailors to creatt 
any such sentiments ; but their first appearance at sea is said to have 
excited no small astonishment among those who had never heard of aa 
invention which could set both winds and waves at defiance. 

" The following is a description of the steam boat Western Engi . 
neer, engaged in conveying troops in the military expedition at pre- 
sent on foot to the Upper Missouri. 

'•The bow of the vessel exhibits the form of a huge serpent, black and 
«caly, rising out of the water from under the boat, his head as high as 
the deck, darted forward, his mouth open, vomiting smoke, and ap- 
parently carr ying the boat on his back; From under the boat, at its 
gtern, issues a stream of foaming water, dashing violently along. All 
the machinery is hid, Three small brass field pieces, mounted on 

F 



wheel carriages, stand on the deck. The boat is ascending the rapid 
stream at the rate of three miles an hour. Neither wind nor human 
hands are seen to help her ; and, to the eye of ignorance, the illusion 
i s complete, that a monster of the deep carries her on his back, smoking 
with fatigue, and lashing the waves with violent exertion. 

" Her equipment is at once calculated to attract and to awe the sa- 
vage. Objects pleasing and terrifying are at once before him j artil- 
lery ; the flag of the republic ; portraits of a white man and an Indian 
shaking hands ; the calumet of peace ; a sword ; then the apparent 
monster, with a painted vessel on his back, the sides gaping with 
port holes, and bristling with guns. Taken altogether, and with- 
out intelligence of her composition and design, it would require a. 
daring savage to approach and accost her with Hamlet's speech." 

" Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned, 

Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 

By thy intents wicked or charitable, 

Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 

That I will speak to thee." 

American paper, July 2Cth, 1819. 



THE PATRIOT SHIP. 






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ApolL Rhodius. 

Majestically slow, as loth to leave 
Her native shores, the patriot vessel comes 
With crowded decks and floating streamers gay. 
Rolls round the wharf the thrice repeated cheer, 
A mingled sound of praise, soul-stirring hope, 



76 POETICAL SKETCHES. 

And anguish deep that from the secret heart 

Of parting friends has forced its stubborn way, 

Spite of the borrowed smile and cheerful tone 

Assumed to hide it. — With that vessel go 

The hearts of thousands. Many an anxious praye* 

Of many a mother, many a love- sick maid, 

Is hovering round her. For she bears the flower 

Of Erin's youth, as th' Argo once of Greece, 

Speed on, fair vessel ! may each prayer bring down 

Some guardian angel with auspicious airs 

To wake iEolian music in thy shrouds. — 

Speed on, fair vessel ! — in the cause of man, 

Far o'er the roarings of th' Atlantic surge, 

Thou bear' st th' auxiliar sword of Erin's sons. 

Let valour edge it ; — rapid may it fall, 

Like red- winged lightning, on the craven ranks 

Of slaves, that bar its passage to the shrine 

Of holy freedom. May the tyrant know, 

The vilest he of all the vilest things 

That e'er dishonoured royalty, what might 

Is in the arm of Erin, when she strikes 

E'en for a stranger's rights. — Fair vessel go !— « 

May prosperous breezes waft thee swiftly on ; 

May favouring currents ever round thee sweep ; 

May stars the fairest in the brow of heaven 

With radiant streams of glory shape thy way. 

More precious is the freight thou bearest now 

Than if the treasures of the land thou seek'st 

Had sunk thee to the brim. Yes, every drop 

Of patriot blood is,, in this righteous cause, 



POETICAL SKETCHES. 77 

More costly than the tyrant's rubied crown. 
Speed on, fair ship ! — around thy gallant prow 
May curling billows play, and in thy wake 
Swift-following dance, while voice of harp and song 
Swells o'er thy poop, and cheers thee on the deep. 
Speed on, fair ship ! — the Genius of the West, 
From hills and valleys rich with all the stores 
Of bounteous nature — from the golden streams 
Of sea-like Plata, and from Andes throned 
Among the stars, invokes thee to approach, 
And share the triumph and renown that wait 
His patriot ranks. — Haste, gather all the winds, 
And may exultant acclamations loud 
Soon in thy destined haven greet thee safe. 



* 2 



A FRAGMENT. 
THE CHRISTIAN PREACHER, 

A LIVING CHARACTER. 



Aye, there's a preacher ! — No declaimer he, 

"With noise, and start, and wild theatric stare, 

With chill conception, sanctimonious cant, 

And marrowless verbiage of a yeasty brain, 

Dishonouring sacred texts ; and for the bread 

Of life, dispensing to the hungry flock 

Unhallowed garbage. No polemic he, 

Roaring defiance from the throne of peace ; 

Nor holy gladiator, whom the hope 

Of lawn and mitre fires with godless zeal. 

Though strong as truth, and matchless in the gam$ 

Of warring arguments, he wields his powers 

"With such a graceful gentleness as shows 

The Christian temper. — Full, profound, and clear, 

Fresh-welling from his mind the living streams 



POETICAL SKETCHES. T» 

Of sweet instruction flow. His themes sublime. 

Life, death, and judgment — or the gentle laws 

Of kindness, love, and peace. Upon his brow 

Sits sanctity enthroned ; his accents breathe 

Heaven's dulcet harmonies, while o'er his face 

Lighten the coruscations of a soul 

With fire from heaven impregnate. His the task 

To soothe affliction, — to dispel the gloom 

Of dark despondence, — or with stunning sounds 

Of salutary dread, awake the soul 

From sin's deep lethargy. — The evening dews 

More grateful fall not on the drooping fiower 3 

With life and fragrance, than his voice distils 

Balm on the weary heart. Anon, it comes 

Like deep-toned thunder from a seraph's hand, 

Bursting and blazing on the withering front 

Of conscious guilt. With renovated power 

He arms the soul to break the chains of vice, 

And unimpeded run the high career 

That leads to worlds of bliss beyond the stars. 

Oft have I seen his congregated throng 
Rapt by his theme, and hushed in silence deep, 
Deep as the solemn, still, and midnight air, 
When expectation all impatient sits 
To hear th' approaching step of friend or foe, 
Breathless and tremulous, lest one rude air 
Should waft a sound away, as on the ear- 
Nay, on the heart and soul — he poured the strain 
Of eloquence divine. How warm it glowed ! 



80 POETICAL SKETCHES. 

How bright and thrilling, like ethereal fire, 
Of power to soften, elevate, subdue ! 
With what conviction stonn the strongest holds 
Of prejudice and pride ! — Religion then 
Might boast her triumphs ; while exultant faith, 
"With hope and charity, the queen supreme 
Of all the Christian graces, in each breast 
Raised a pure shrine, and kindled holy flame. 

Immortal glories crown the pastor's brow 
"Who in his bosom feeds th' eternal fires 
Of universal love ; who joys to clothe 
The social virtues in the garb of heaven ; 
And paint devotion as the cheerful friend 
And comforter, whose winning face and mien 
Invite to love her;— not as oft pourtrayed 
By erring friends, with stem repulsive brow, 
Cold and austere, and more in shape and guise 
A demon from below, with ghastly scowl 
To spoil the music of the bounding heart, 
Than heaven-sent seraph, whose celestial look 
Shoots joy and rapture, Idndling in their beam 
The high aspirings of th' immortal mind. 
Mine be the man of God, whose visual ray 
By no cold mist of bigotry obscured, 
In God beholds the parent of mankind, 
And in mankind his brethren. Precious ties ! 
Hallowed relations ! w-hich, well understood, 
Above each low conception that restricts 
To sects or creeds the mercies of the skies, 



POETICAL SKETCHES. SI 

Exalt the soul, and bid it wide expand 

As heaven's great circle, with o'erflowing love. 

Such pastor worthy of the sacred name 

Of minister to Him who died for all, 

Fulfils his mission best. By silken ties 

He draws th' assenting heart. The starting tear 

Of sympathy, the sob, the panting breast 

Thrilled by sublime emotion, to his words 

Yield charmed assent. The breathings of the blest 

Seem on the spirit poured ; the earth no more 

Draws her reverted gaze, but high she soars 

To pay her homage at the eternal throne, 



A FRAGMENT. 
ADDRESS TO THE SUN, 



— Thou peerless Sun, 
O let me hail thee, as in gorgeous robes 
Blooming thou leav'st the chambers of the East, 
Crowned with a gemmed tiara, thick embossed 
With studs of living light. The stars grow dim 
And vanish in thy brightness : but on earth 
Ten thousand glories sparkling into life 
Their absence well repay. The mists dispersed 
Flit o'er the mountain tops. Cliffs, glens, and woods^ 
And lakes, and oceans, now are burnished o'er 
With scintillating gold. Where'er the eye 
Erratic turns, it greets thee : for thy form, 
Nature, delighted, multiplies, and makes 
Each sand, eacn dew-drop, the small floret's crown, 
The tiny orbit of the insect's eye, 
And the rayed texture of the sparry rock, 
A mirror for thy glory. — Life awakes 
From dewy slumber. — Hark ! the jocund lark 



POETICAL SKETCHES, S3 

Awakes her carols ; now their morning hymn 
The birds are chanting, and the voice of joy 
Has filled th' ethereal vault. Reflection fair 
Of thy Creator ! strange had heathen worlds 
Not paid thee rites divine ! Should'st thou refuse 
Thy wonted smile, or stay, thy chariot wheels, 
Soon Nature's mighty pulse would cease to beat, 
And, all her powers collapsing, might she dread 
Sad dissolution.. But th' Eternal's breath 
Has kindled thee with fires that never know 
Extinction nor exhaustion. His command 
Proud to fulfil^ thou measurest days and weeks, 
Months, years, and cycles, to the sons of men, 
And seest their generations rise and bloom, 
Wax old and die ; — thyself unchanged by Time, 
Ne'er has his hand thy golden tresses shorn, 
Nor on thy dazzling forehead has he left 
Trace of his wrinkling breath, nor aught thy speed 
And juvenile strength abated. Matchless orb, 
Roll ever glorious, ever round thee pour 
The streams of life and joy, thy Maker's praise- 
Exalting high, his noblest image thou ! 



M. Goodwi.x, Printer^ 
29, Denmark-street. 

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